"spiting" poems
The overripe mango that sits promptly on my desk stares at me through its one eye, indignantly asking to be eaten – before it goes bad.
I consider, strongly, the mango’s proposition.
Contemplating the level of hunger, or desire I have for this demanding piece of fruit.
It may be that the latte I just finished burnt off any remaining taste buds I have, or it may be that I find
something amusing about holding a mango hostage of its pride – but I just can’t eat it.
A once firm, confident specimen edging ever closer to becoming a wrinkly, seeping, sack of rotten juice.
Knowingly, I chain it to its fate by refusing to slice the skin back and swallow its sweetness.
It demands to be mutilated rather than aged.
As I sit here writing of my hostage, it continues to stare through its eye – spiting me.
Cursing me with future putrid fruit, with worms in my apples, and with brown bananas.
Oh, how I hate brown bananas.
This mango has learnt well in the time it’s spent in my room, it knows my weaknesses.
I always knew that fruit had character, but this mango – I tell you, it’s something else.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:10 PM UTC
I’ve met 37 girls named Sarah. My name. Sarah. Five letters, nothing special. It’s not beautiful like Lena. Not creative like Anastasia. No one has any trouble pronouncing it. Which I guess isn’t all that bad. Until they go into that story about that one Sarah who gives my name a bitter taste in their mouth. Spiting out the two syllable, five letter word that defines me, like they know something about me. “Oh Sarah, I knew a Sarah once.” Please don’t say my name like that, don’t elongate that first a, cut sharp the sound of the r, only to drop the h at the end. Five letters said as if there are only four.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
Misunderstood please understand.
You hear, you think what you thought you would,
You remember what you thought before.
You close that door and think some more.
Remember the color of the emerald words I gave?
Do you remember the crisp noise of connections that they made?
Now do you?
Misunderstood.
You hear me through the speakers of your mind,
Little twists and bends and changes, you crinkle all my story pages.
You still remember what you felt before.
You close the door and feel some more.
Do you remember the scarlet words I gave you?
They gushed out of my torn heart like glistening blood?
NOW DO YOU?
Misunderstood.
All the noise running together in your head,
You try to open your moth to let some escape.
And when they pour out I sit down and take in the color.
Dear I fear that you could never really hear.
Emeralds ran into all the simple blue that’s you to blend into the scarlet.
Connections dissolved, you don’t, you
Misunderstood.
The words I gave are gone.
Your mind mixed hear and changed it there and turned it into brown.
I gave you all the beautiful colors of the rainbow,
But you would not take them for what they where.
You changed them, and held them together until it was all different
Until they where made all made the same.
Misunderstood.
This becomes the color of the truths you push away, and the words you mix around.
You find yourself spiting out this endless dingy brown .
I close the door, your spilling out onto the floor.
Keep what you have made I don’t want it, its yours.
Misunderstood.
Your not misunderstood, miss I’m to tired to stand.
Don’t blame the hand made reluctant to help ,
Your to covered with dirt for my brushing to help.
I know you , I love you , but I cannot make my miss understand.
I know my miss understood so I know that she can.
But she wont. I wonder why.
I have no patience to dote on you precious little feelings,
I’m so tired of the brown. Stop mixing colors, oh miss.
Until you make some changes I will have to leave you
Sitting and spiting on the dingy brown ground.
I love you miss I hope you understand.
Mis I know that you did so Mis I know that you can.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
She—an unrepeated motif—waxes precocious like her ancient self.
Never mind the counterfeit eccentrics,
strange enough to be noticed but not doomed.
Their only burden is imperfection.
She’d die for these people, but they don’t realize omniscience is boring.
In preschool, she learned people are mean for no reason.
There’s no sense in spiting the inevitable,
so she gave away her quarters at bake sale.
Her mother would say, “That money is yours.”
The girl would ask, adjusting her overalls,
“If it’s mine, can’t I decide what to do with it?”
In the future, when repeating this story to a potential motif,
she’d know he’s The One when he’d say,
“What do four-year-olds need to know about capitalism?
Thanks to Walt Disney, they want to conform
and follow their hearts at the same time.”
She’d get off on his grumpy, and then notice his ring.
If he had met her first, would he still have married his wife?
It’s not worth hoping for divorce. He’s built to mate for life.
Instead of turning twenty-six, she’ll choose a chair in purgatory—
trapped between what should be and what is.
As long as she’s sitting, she may as well start smoking.
It’s a fine day for oral fixation.
At least she doesn’t smoke Parliaments like the counterfeit eccentrics.
She’d wonder if in a past life she was a dusty vacuum cleaner,
covered in what she was meant to destroy.
It’s too easy to claim hypocrisy,
too easy to cry genius for discovering what works
when for so long, failure was the only place to go.
She hasn’t been happy since she was thirteen.
The day before her first existential crisis,
her mother said, “Stop being so melodramatic.
You must want to be depressed.” Her response:
“I’m not too young for a mid-life crisis. I just won’t live to see thirty.”
She owes her life to a fear of hell,
knows we all experience hell differently. Hers is a banquet.
The proceeds will go toward ending world hunger.
At the end of the night, the keynote speaker complains
that Alfredo sauce doesn’t reheat well, so the leftovers get thrown out.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 10:17 AM UTC
Sand paper bags scratch empty city streets, like nails on chalkboards. It’s amazing how silence can be scary. I gaze upon empty playground grass, the rampant, rapacious children are no longer able to climb jungle gyms to be king of the world. Why? I believe someone invited the Devil to dinner. He scorched earth and burnt tears in barren city streets, I alone see the beauty in the destruction. Amongst anguish and anger, lies pure serenity. An ending is just as beautiful as a beginning, like light to files, I’m addicted to pain. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you how demise is perfect. It’s starts with a smile, broken. Too many demons spiting languages of hot lava that sounds similar to the solar maximum, It’s my mind that breaks from reality. Unstable and unappreciated, pain is the only way I can rid the stress, So I have believed. Starting like a headache, addicting like ****** or cough syrup, The rush of blood spiraling round my upper thigh is something I used to look forward to,
It was the only thing I could say I did for myself.
Moments spilled into months, months pouring into one self-inflicting year, If only I could show the buckets I filled with the sadness I was afraid to share with the world. I finally put the blades away when I made a mother watch her baby boy dig scissors into his wrists. Rosy-red cheeks and rain-drop tears slipping down her face was enough to know I could I do better. I needed to do better. So, I washed the blood away, erasing every past memory I thought I should regret. I know life is no ethcy-sketch, the marks I once was proud of bare the same weight of shame. I consider my addiction to be my savior. If I never landed on rock bottom, I would never know the power it takes to stand back up. Now I wake among empty city streets, Sand paper bags sit silently, It’s amazing how silence can be comforting. I alone see the beauty behind the monster that tore apart my freckled canvas. I look at the Devil in the mirror.
Dinner is finished.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…
Alison Wonderland.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
He’s broken promises and lifetime regrets.
He might not win daddy of the year,
he spends his evenings and early mornings wishing he could’ve been a better father. He’s not a role model,
he made mistakes.
He smoked the things he couldn’t,
he forgot the things he shouldn’t.
He’s so much more.
A leader
an army of youth at his side,
spiting fire that he lit the flame to.
He opened the doors to our poetry,
letting us become the people who we are and what we want.
I never liked having my work judged continuously, until I met him.
His judgement is not for life or death
, it’s for the words I could never speak unless I wrote them.
A friend,
with the best advice,
a man with a past is a man with experience.
He can tell you all about late, hazy nights in smoke-filled hotel rooms and polite crack heads in Portland, Maine.
A man,
willing to address his mistakes and send them flying back to their rightful place,
the past.
He’s the toughest man I know and the only father-figure I like to look up to.
He is.
A role model.
Because,
contrary to popular understanding, a past of mistakes leads to a future of knowledge.
If I become half the man he is,
I’ll know I’ve lived my life as a good man.
I can see passion in every word as a slightly under-confident man shoots bullets with poetic lines that can make a room,
pretty **** quiet.
Most doesn’t see him like I do.
They see tattoos and **** you’s” and assume he a part of the lost youth.
They’ll never know he’s the compass leading us out of the cave of darkness.
I see a man who smokes too much because he cares for every poet who steps to a mic.
I see broken promises and lifetime regrets.
He’s all of those things but,
in reality.
He’s.
So.
Much.
More.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 1:52 PM UTC
Blessed with children I was asked to be there protector
On a loan and watching my every move
You are looking, for you’re the sole investor.
At a breaking point and thinking all about fleeing
I try and tell myself I can get through this
But why does it seem there’s no end to what I am seeing?
I was wishing and I was wanting, I just wanted it all to stop
Because I was tired of drowning and I wanted to get back to the top.
experiencing torrents of emotions crashing wave upon wave
I can't seem to see any way out and now all I want is to be in a grave.
In this darkness and with no light I'm praying to you please let me win this fight.
You turned my eyes to your words once again
And look there it was, the chapter title all in yellow
Hiding deep within the scriptures that are written
Suddenly right before my eyes I saw the pages turn into a mirror
As the goosebumps all started to rise, I then saw, I was him, I was that fellow.
Starring at myself in the reflection
I then heard a voice telling me to have trust
And throw all my worries over to him
And if I did, I’ll be on my way again to perfection.
Thank you lord for spiting me out back on solid land,
I could have never did it,
Without your loving helping hand.
(SirCARSr 10-18-13)
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
As I lay on my deathbed in the hospital room,
The awareness of my soon doom,
Exudes feelings of gloom,
But more so it ensues feelings of regret,
So many stupid decisions which in my heart beget
Feelings of indecision, unaware of what is next.
The disease that’s ripping me from my life is unknown,
All I know is I had to leave my son and wife at home.
Soon I’ll have to leave from the life I’ve known.
I remember my last words to my son,
Looking sympathetically I looked at him pathetically,
And said so empathetically, I loved him,
So death could see.
But it doesn’t matter, because talking doesn’t work,
So I’m patiently waiting for the coffin and the hearse,
And then all a sudden I started coughing and it hurts,
Then I pressed the button which was calling for the nurse.
The door flew open
But it couldn‘t be her,
Instead I got the black hooded death,
Known as the Grim Reaper.
He approached me, I got cold, time froze,
His hand hit mine.
He got close to me and told me, that it was my time.
Filled with frustration I couldn’t control,
Snatched my arm away from his hand so cold,
Looked him in his eyes, because it was time he was told,
He’s not taking any more lives and it was my time, I spoke.
“If you reap what you sow, why reap souls?
You’re the creator of none, but you can take them and run?
How is this so, the keeper of the souls,
Reaper who sold nothing he sowed?
He only stole, and away he stowed ,
Until he bestows them to the one below.
And we all know that he has no soul.
So your envy controls and even he knows
In heat he chose to fight those he loathes.
Despising those whose demise,
You own.
Spiting foes, despite inside he knows,
That it was he who has chose,
The life as Reaper of Souls.”
After I finished my speech,
He roared with laughter and disbelief,
Then, up I leaped and for his sickle I reached,
Chopped off his head, which fell to his feet.
Now death is dead, just grim from defeat.
But to my surprise, death did have a soul,
And into my body, the spirit arose.
The Grim Reaper’s hood then covered me whole,
From the inside to out my body became cold.
I was no greater than he, reaping what I did not sow.
I was just as Grim,
And now the new Reaper of souls.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
“Tap,” beckoned the door,
A, “knock,”
And signature I’d never forget –
Cross the “t’s, “dot the “i’s,”
An empty night’s forged check
And liquor paved path to be,
To bed, it’s her, it’s her.
It’s also 3:10 AM,
Better than PM,
Where I’m still awake,
Still at work,
And as always,
Annoyed by the nuisance of
Another.
I don’t say “hi,”
And far from reluctantly,
She grabs a beer,
The only cold one I’ve got,
Frail fingered, cry-stain eyed,
And fresh off the ultimate high,
Love, and again.
She hovers to my room,
A natural,
Where she walks with closed lids
Guided by music that’s
Remnant and
Leaking phantoms
From speakers spiting souls –
And it’s
The song she always played,
And it’s, “ours,”
Once a favorite of mine,
And it’s now if only a melody,
Destroyed by repetition and her
Obsession with “echoes.”
I endure.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
I live in this world that shows only spiting bull **** you spread all over with your phones. all the favorite memories of hanging with friends make us never lose being young. memories that sting burning a hole threw my heart. i'm running out of strength to keep the world around me from collapsing killing me. i had to say my time of even caring will blow this world from my life in a ****** hell. trap'd with no life left. i walk this world lost in my own destruction of what i will show you all. words will be sprayed all over . like every text message you sent to people i told you i hate them all. why should people follow me when turning my cards flipping them winning every poker game . i hide my eyes so no one will lose there own soul that i own now *****
this world leaves nothing but scares that are all over my body turning me into a freak show. lies from words run like knives being thrown at a simple target of lies . don't wast your time cause i'm to broken to even give a **** about any thing else to say
peace out you have told the stories making peoples life hell taking every thing away from them.
you told me to keep positive but you have reached and pulled out my bad side
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
I am a star that looks upon all at night,
I am a star that is always by itself,
You'll probably know me as the one that doesn't shine as much,
or the one that strays from the 'popular' constellations.
i am a star that gets picked on from the others because i am the smallest, even the man in the moon laughs at me.
But instead of spiting back at them i laugh back....... you wanna know why?
because i am a star that is alone for a reason,
i stray from the constellation because when one burns they all burn,
i am that star that is the smallest but is the most constant star there is,
i am a star that will always be looking out for you from above,
every night,
i am the star that is sometimes out during the day,
the one you tell your secrets too, the one to cherish them
or the star that cries with you, for i am the star that is alone for a reason...
to be a constant reminder that you will always have a friend and that you are not alone..
Yes, I am that star.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
Roaming the plane soulless spiting rights, spitting facts
Exhausting public eyes whilst rendering a tax.
Mar 16, 2021
Mar 16, 2021 at 3:59 PM UTC
Pressure rising
Pulse subsiding
Outside flying
Inside I'm crying
Problems dying
To much lying
No more denying
I know this is trying
Tired of the spiting
I see you've been hiding
Becoming, abiding
It's time for some guiding
It seems so inticing
To rid the unexciting,
Coinciding,
Whining
Jeopardizing,
Stereotyping,
To only bring on,
A new horizon
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Because the sun is coming up, and I still haven’t slept,
They call me crazy. But I’m not, I promise you
-Not in a destructive way. I hope that’s alright.
And I can’t see the technicolor clouds from my window,
But maybe that’s for the best. I’d only be identifying
Images of you floating by in the shape shifting aurora.
False dawn passes, its greyish-blue hue
And fresh scent of rain giving me a second,
Third, fourth (and so on) wind, almost as much as the caffeine.
And I waited all night to talk to you,
But you never came. You said you would, though
It was silly of me to think that you would show;
That’s me: silly. But you like me that way.
And with my words failing on a pendulum locket,
Copping like they’re coping with the treasonist panic,
Backstabbing, hair-grabbing, pinching; biting; mother-spiting.
Falling through with mad devices, a lost prolific parody of
Gasping fools, so desperately grasping to the notion of an ending
That they insist is only the beginning to something greater.
I put a sign up in my window: Prozac and papal blessing- 2 bucks a pop.
Dec 22, 2010
Dec 22, 2010 at 9:28 PM UTC
...or at least being under the naive guise of youth, tainted with the dementia of infatuation
What if I really believed you were my one and only?
What if my love for you is as real as it ever was?
I still make love to you every night
Even though you left me
Alone I stoke the fire...
Together we shall burn-
Perpetually.
I let you live here rent free;
My beauty,
My lessee,
& naturally I
The lessor.
You spite me.
I allow you to
Every night is that same day
That same fight
It blurs a little bit more with every play
Every night I go to sleep in that day.
Every night I relish in the fact that...
As insignificant as it may seem
I'm the one who had the control that day
Every night I get to relive that moment.
Every night you are forced to see it my way.
Every night you are to face the me you tried to avoid so desperately.
Every night you are made to face the love you neglected so miserably and I remember every single detail.
Every excruciating detail of your struggle, to the breakdown, and finally acceptance of what you had comin to you; my love.
I ***** you that night.
I raptured you that night and I relive it as I jack off to the idea of spiting you and you just took it and let it happen because you knew you were finally coming clean about who you really were and how it made no difference what happened to you one way or another...
I remember my being a romantic
Every single night before I go to bed
I still love you to this day you see...
I said it back then and it still holds true.
I remember my being a romantic-
BUT NOT AS MUCH AS I REMEMBER ******* YOU!
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
I’m stuck between impatience and time moving too fast.
If only certain moments could hold off and last,
Yet let me be the first to set the record straight.
I know that, in the end, it will all be worth the wait.
I’m not here because I want to relive the past.
While times have been perfect, the idea is too vast:
To stay where you are, red, and not look for what’s ahead.
However, why is the future an idea i’m urged to dread?
While this time is exciting, and often inviting,
I see the circumstance filled with crying and spiting.
No, I’m not scared, or maybe I was.
I’ve learned that I can’t live that way, only because
I’ll suffer that way in this current time I’m in,
And living right now is already hard enough to begin.
I’m not here to sulk, i’m not here to brag.
I’m just impatiently enduring the drag
Of time, of now, wanting it to slow to yellow,
While I’m eager, insisting on life’s green light, “go.”
Time, a constant thing, still looks me in the face
To say, “you think you know it all, but I will set the pace”.
No matter the task, the toll, the race, I’m in it for the ride.
Meanwhile, I’ll tell my impatient indecisiveness that it’ll have to subside.
Maybe time is like traffic. “Do I gas it, or hit the breaks?”
Either way, I’m afraid of collisions, so that’s a risk I just won’t take.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
transfixed by the vastness
pinpricks carrying galaxies
and the death of one far off light
means the potential for new nebula
a black beetle's journey across my arm distracts
displaced hairs create a path
his trail marks my own
looking back into the night sky
shimmering distant worlds hide
orbiting barely visible star systems
falling asteroid streaks from the northern sector
to a south-eastern resting place
most space rocks find the desert
to be most to their liking
soft cricket chirp
drowns out the rumble from a
passing air liner
the chemical strip left behind seems a shadow
spiting the universe in half
much like the ecliptic
keeps Aquarius at bay
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
I see you there,
Walking all over the world like you own the place.
Pushing nerds into each other,
Then laughing your *** off.
Disrespect is all you seem to give.
And yet everything is what you seem to take.
Spiting, hitting, cursing,
The only things in your repertoire.
The only things you understand.
Then the real world comes
To slap you in the face,
And there I am, slapping with them.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 3:48 PM UTC
Fractured, ruined, lost within my thoughts.
Soaked too the bone with baneful memories,
Like vines entwined in my brain banging at the door just to breath,
Your insensibility, absurdity and nonsense is like a fire burning deep within me,
because if it wasn't for your ignorance we wouldn't be in this reality.
Your words like venom spiting cruel ****
Always saying I love you but,
“Your thighs are too thick”
So choke on you articulation on this proper occasion,
suffocating on your enlightening ********
as if finally you taste the appalling choice of your vocabulary,
Instead of feasting on the frightening idea that you’ll be alone.
Forever most likely.
Instead of feeling the warmth of an embrace,
the sweet softness of a kiss,
or the burn of passion between two bodies.
You'll shrivel up like skin that’s been adrift in the ocean,
wrinkled, wreaked, and wicked ******
I feel sorry for you and the way that you’ll die,
Cold and heart broken like a vase that was dropped from the sky.
Ill pry that one day you’ll awake from this malevolent slumber
And be forced to endure the endeavoring of your madness,
To feel every verbal scar you left on anybody.
Tearing away from beneath your skin,
Slowly forcing you to mask holes of athencity to your past.
So release me from your obnoxious, vicious grasp,
Allowing me to be free from my entrapped sanity
And leave the minefield surrounding me,
Just waiting for it to backfire and convulse right here in front of me.
Take back the conversations,
Take back the fights,
And late nights.
Cut the memories right from the root and untangle them from my mind.
You may have wasted my time,
But I swear to you I lied because I wont love you any long for all time,
I wont care for you,
You’ll be an old bruise on my fragile body.
Because I’m Fractured, ruined, and lost within my thoughts.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
The cruel words you’re spiting at me make me wince and wonder what I’ve done wrong. Like poison it sinks into my veins, burning and decomposing as it goes. My tears start to fall like rain, you start up again, word harsh words coming. Ugly, useless, fat, stupid. They whip me as they sling out of your mouth. You’re finally done and you yell at me to get out of your sight. I let my leaded feet take me to my barren room. Nothing significant, just white. Like an insane asylum cell. I grab my blanket off the floor and wrap myself in it and just let the tears flow. I curl up, screaming my heart out. It all goes blank. Just lying there, Quiet, finally I open my eyes and look at the door and slowly walk to my bathroom, I turn on the hot water. I limply shed each article of clothing and walk sluggishly to the awaiting bath tub. I fall into it and just sit. Thinking of everything that has happened. I stare down at the secluded razor at the corner of my tub. I gaze at it longingly and then grab it. I tare in to the skin of my left arm. I watch as the blood flows freely. I laugh at the thought of you finding my lifeless body.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
I said "hey check out the captain", and the sailors all agreed, so we strung him to the masthead and he flapped there in the breeze.
We were sailing past the dover cliffs with neptune on our side, and I walked into the captain's cabin with the crows nest in my eyes.
The Druid winds kept up our sails with an aztec tiller man, and up from the depths came Jonah's whale as we sailed across the sands.
With the cannons spiting broken glass we passed the coasts of Africa. The amazon flowed underneath and the snow began to fall, with hail stones as big as clubs they joined us in the hull. We spent the nights in holocaust but our blood it mixed below. So we put a **** in Panama and Hawaii loomed up slow, with burlap sacks of psilocybin from the volcanoes rotting shell. The fire gushed up from underneath, we were on our way in hell.
Electric raindrops filled the sky, like a insect's buzzing din, it seemed Zues was coming with us and the light began to bend. The sun it cracked wide open and in the chain reaction's swell, our whole galactic nebula was shattered and we fell.
Only to be born again on tomorrow's distant shores, for each atomic particle was as fertile as your soil, and the motion and the friction was only nature's oil. But just as death must balance life when nature's had her fill, we probably will rise again and learn to hate and ****
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
MOMENT IN THE SUN
When you shall shine bright
Like light glows within you
Like your skin is a bulb
And your eyes
Shall
Prove delight
True love not hidden
that is the time you will say
‘Thanks God, today’s my day’
A day that will be unique
Your best moment
within the
sun
success
shall be rewarded
you shall be delighted
you shall sing the best song
best dancers shall participate
the secret is only one sentence
press on, keep work alive,
Meaningless stories
kindly forget
for time
holds
for
them
and others
you may wish for.
My CUP
I hold my cup
My trophy is
Awarded for success
This far I came,
Wasn’t simple at all
I cracked even harder walls,
People were surprised and asked for the secrets I had
Ofcourse I had none,
The faith within me
The driving force that kept me going
The patience and perserverance
All, I kept that were so painful
All I fogave, for the unforgivable they did to disappoint me
For the mocking and the spiting they did behind me,
All were meant to be like they war
I cracked through them,in no big blows,
I never fought to win
I kept love,
I kept patience,which was so hard to
And like a termite,
I picked one soil at a time, to achice a very big anthill
Man can spent time,only t be defeated…
That was my secrets
And they handed me this cup
This throphy to be specific.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Why is it hard sometimes,
feeling so different and so
capable
yet your lips barely speak above a whisper.
Where your spiraling eyes see
through the disguises we play our lives behind.
And yet you hang your head
all the same, as if starlight
wasn't shining from within it all.
Your life,
as broken shards of
smiles trying.
As voices clash and
messages spiral out of sync like
two blades
spiting the screws that hold them tight.
And rust they will,
your eyes if closing them
feels better.
For a bitter taste settles on
tongues that hope to dance
yet barely dare to step
beyond their teeth, they quiver.
And these footsteps that find you
lost amongst the promise
of empty bottles you have found.
I wish to hear them,
your hidden breaths from under
what slender cheeks you turn,
to the ground.
From what pages your
lashes spark
and spring from as the world
whispers wonders in your ear.
The trickling words
that tickle you
to smile.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 3:26 AM UTC
The day will exhaust itself if it keeps running away;
Shadows may fetch its hills as they fetch the floors—
There is all the grime of family life portraiting
Seamy corners perfumed with stale smoke
Blackened as it comes with twilight,
Narrated by cracked smiles and “some’re” teeth
Stories of the happy winds, the simple views
Pits of bromide comforts and steely prides
And all around resilience to spiting one’s face.
Even as the sky waxes intense the pink of waning day
I find no hope in the west, but a weight pressing
On the very outcropping of my birth—
These modern monks, these pretty babes
Calmly lie in for the new day; it is behind the mountain.
It is from there the stars themselves unfold
From their translucent dirt and the last beautiful word
Of home is heard, something like country tears
And watching myself grow too fast for my liking,
The stars are not ready for counting,
They’ve lost that allure
Puffballs glow on the hill, lost souls on the grazing lands
Finding, at once, where the winds of change will take them
Everywhere, nowhere, freed and sobbing and mocking the
Birds and the flowers all praising themselves natural,
Taking my lungs’ air to the milky distance
As it starts to run and on and so on…
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC