"splatters" poems
A strange weather pattern
Appears up in the sky,
And a strange sludge splatters
Into onlooking eyes.
Menstrual matter falls
From the great godless clouds,
The people struck with awe
As they run, scream alloud.
A trickle turned downpour
Of radiated blood,
Now drowning in a storm
That yields a *** flood.
Dropping violently in pints, gallons, and leagues
We become fossils under a ************ sea.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
raindrops bounce on
the window frame,
reminding me we're
in this room together.
your words are raindrops
playing on my metal frame -
nowness splatters
into existence -
you remind me that
someday we won't be
in this room together.
you repeat endlessly
between my ears -
I sing along to my favorite song -
I want to tell you
all the lyrics
but my words fall
like raindrops.
unspoken are my
tear-shaped raindrops -
their tremors taunt me
on this side of the pane -
you remind me that
we were always
in the wrong
alternate universe.
the raindrops refract
your light,
dissolving a warm glow
into the evening fog,
you remind me that you're gone.
maybe the rain stopped,
but the silence is only
the absence of your voice,
the rest is just noise.
I think of our raindrops now -
smiling -
knowing that you have an umbrella.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
They not understanding, I see glimpses of death.
I keep telling y'all I'm not right, but i guess y'all are deaf.
My last straw been plucked, holding to sanity by a stitch.
Im on my last leg, but i feel I'm 'bout to slip.
Body bags and blood splatters, those pictures flash in when i blink.
I'm laughing at the pain i feel until i can't think.
From the outside I'm ok, on the instide I'm wrecked.
I'm like building with bad foundation, i need to be checked.
I feel that point is coming, when the me y'all know disappears.
When my heart and soul welcomes the darkness, the hate, my fears.
When nothing will reach me, when I'll forget the word calm.
When my last tick, ticks and i explode like a bomb.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Cake
You can eat it too!
My frying pan
Is half empty
Hate me
Because I am good
No!
Because I am great!
Michelan Stars
Trips to Mars
Candy bars
Mason jars
Drunk I am
Said the can
To the packet
Of ketchup
Baker's square
I worked there
Line cook nook
Splatters shook!
The kitchen man
Burns the water
The ******** fan
Yearns for slaughter
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
Rachel’s hair, black as ink,
splatters my blank skin.
It’s a rewrite for bad readers,
a stroll for quick-to screamers,
a phone call at 3 a.m., and
a sickening high that just won’t end.
Rachel’s teeth, sharp/jagged like littered glass shards,
dig into my aged, faintly seasoned flesh.
It’s a feast for lazy vultures,
an eyesore for devout heathens,
a dusty revolver on a Sunday, and
a lone drunk at a flybuzz wedding.
Rachel’s soul, battering ram/sputtering mad,
dilutes toxic mine, leaves only the rind.
It’s a constant reminder for dangerous nostalgia,
a blanket smoldering in fire within winter-without-end,
a handshake and a heart attack for closest kin,
an elevation, a joyous atomic cloud, and
a sky crying elative confetti tears of future me.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:52 PM UTC
What once is now was
My feet tread delicately over egg shells
Balance on unsturdy tightropes
My body's equilibrium thrown off
My legs shake like an earthquake of emotion
From outer to inner core, I see
A slimmer of green light, my american dream
I am the Great Gatsby
Holding onto a bit of the past
Desiring it to become the present
To the future of mine
Yet with soft words
I am met with inevitable flames of anger
A rage so powerful, so dangerous
So provoking, prodding me like a cow
The man I was born from
Whom is supposed to defend me
Is one that destroys me
His words conform, turning into a wrecking ball
Slam into my heart, destroying it
Pieces fall down like pebbles tip, tipping against a lover's window
Except it taps the windows of Satan
Awakening unknown, terrifying horrors
As bottles clink, can crash, alcohol splatters
So does the confidence I once had
mbm
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******
Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.
Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.
The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Red Red
blood poppies
splatters the ground blanket the ground
on a cold on a calm
Orange Orange
autumn day autumn day
a bitter, biting wind a cool, rousing breeze
meets the meets the
Yellow Yellow
piercing sun warming sun
beating down shining down
on dead, littered bodies on thriving, vibrant flora
skin turning emerging from
Green Green
decay grass
an ugly scene a brilliant display
of man's loss of nature's victory
Blue Blue
uniforms sky
war-torn, battered endless, infinite
hidden retires
by the to the
Purple Purple
night night
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Caucasian cadaver in the windless woods.
Carelessly hanging from a tree.
Colorless face looking down.
Carrion yet to be seen.
Creation of an evil man.
Displaying his departed art.
Completed, his compelling plan.
Of helping death do its part.
Few colors, fewer sounds.
White skin contrasts the black dress.
Faded yellow floating all around.
Splatters of red fill the rest.
A frightful figure that overwhelms.
Above the confused and thorny trails.
All the shallow know themselves.
At the sight of this female.
Breathless before being dangled.
Dead before being displayed.
Beautiful body, cold and mangled.
Death magnificently portrayed.
Multiple stab wounds in your back.
Added to the smell of war.
Mind immersed in barren black.
Gnawed eyes to watch and adore.
Dripping, dim and dreadful.
The portrait he wanted to smear.
Your future as empty as your words.
Your hollowness shown clear.
You don't know what you're missing.
Elders still die, the young still grow.
The leaves below are hissing.
At the corpse of a girl I used to know.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
I write about what disheartens me
And this one does, way too deeply
The harm cannot be undone
Most were lost, not just some
To go into a field, gambling with the universe
Our brave soldiers, with actions they can't reverse
Lost their life fighting for he country
Til the very end, only one thing on their mind: family
We sit here ignorant in our comfortable seats
While they defend our people, only to end in defeat
Every bullet shot into their hearts
Their blood splatters, turns into art
Thank you dear soldiers, for your service
We will forever be grateful for this
No words can heal and no money can repay
You'll remain in our hearts every single day
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Divergent as always, I'm flying a kite in an avalanche zone.
Inevitably, from your safe harbor, you will judge me.
I yell, "this, this is liberation!"
But you don't see me as a revolutionary.
You'll take me for savage.
Medicate the unprecedented out of my veins
Cover me in a quilt of your culture, label it safety.
Repression of variation, of the noise and the bold, is optimal for this society.
Freefalling enthusiasm isn't exhilarating to you, and paint splatters aren't modern art
They are just a mess on a clean canvas
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
/'kriːˈeɪtɪv·mɛs/
noun
1. it's that flash
of inspiration
adding colour
to your blank thoughts.
2. it's that exhilarating feeling
of creating something -
of actually creating something -
with your endless procrastination.
3. it's your canvas
being filled with splatters
of paint and glitter.
4. it's art.
- v.m
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
I was sixteen when the machines came.
The letters “C-A-T” screamed at me from across the street
As the harsh yellow tore at the roots of the
Cherry trees across the street.
Of course the orchard had never been mine,
I had not planted the seeds and curated the
Beautiful blooms through their short lives,
Picked the cherries off the trees myself.
But what about all the photoshoots I’d done
Among the gorgeous white blooms,
All the times my friend had walked through
The rows of trees to get to my house and
Left paint splatters of cherries across the kitchen floor,
All the sunsets I’d seen through the leaves
That made me nostalgic for things
I had never experienced?
What if I’m growing up and moving out
And can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that
These plants that have smiled at me from my
Window for over a decade have returned
To the Earth?
What if these days the
Weeks are crying when they should be glowing and
The absence of trees is simply the target of
One of those odd tricks that sorrow shoots out of the mind
That remind me that change is the only thing that’s
Permanent?
I wish that the emptiness of the field could be replaced by
Happy little white blooms
But instead the CAT machines screech and moan
And all I can feel is
The ache of old nostalgia and the
Peculiar nostalgia of the unknown.
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 6:13 PM UTC
the museum of my heart
has a blurry picture of his green eyes
the boy whose I name I never knew
there's a special exhibit
of all the bathrooms I had a breakdown in
there's polaroid pictures hanging
of all the friends I lost through the years
and all the friends who lost me
there's the poetry I wrote about them
words written in red ink and messy handwriting
there's statues of copper and tin
of all the lovers who couldn't love me
there's a constant humming of white noise and lo-fi
echoes of unspoken words I kept and ones I never heard
there's a selection of wingless butterflies
and a collection of blunt pencil sharpener blades
there's a basket of fortune cookies
and every single piece of paper carries the same aphorism:
"amidst the loneliness, the things you loved will forever haunt you."
there's old tv sets and a stack of DVD's
of all the films I wish I'd seen
there's all the skeletons I've hidden
secrets written on napkins and snuck between the wall cracks
there's a brand new guillotine and a golden noose
carefully kept for anyone who tries to hurt me
there's blackberry trees, an open ceiling
and dark splatters covering the ground beneath it
there's a chapel with empty seats and burned bible verses
rose petals and pink, lilac and blue candles
where an altar waits for a future love's mementos
there's a fountain of sweat, blood & tears
there's me standing in the corner
waiting to hand you your ticket and lure you in
there's angels and devils praying that you make it to the end of the tour
Jan 29, 2023
Jan 29, 2023 at 8:19 PM UTC
"Wala pay sulod atong sako Nay.”
Sack of rice is empty
Stomach rumbling mercilessly
Mind is hazy, breathing sporadically
Cold porridge is a feast.
“Go home!” says Mama sternly
Frantic, frightened, panicky
Rocks hurled, bullets fly
Blood splatters; running aimlessly
We dodge our way to safety
Cold porridge is a feast.
“I will not,” I say adamantly
She looks at the sack mournfully
Empty. Devoid of sanity.
Cold porridge is a feast.
“We’ll get some soon. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I feel weak, I am crabby
I’m staying despite this misery
Cold porridge is a feast.
Childlike will, piety of soul
Purity of intention, pursuit of living whole
Cold porridge is a feast.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
AmeriKKKa
Land of the free
Land of the whites
Hell for the blacks
Equality non existent
KKK running land
Blacks running dead
Blood splatters everywhere
KKK never stops
Blacks broken with grief
Whites uplifted with grief
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
I don't know what to write anymore.
But I can't stop thinking about flickers of your lips
and splatters of your touch.
When the rain pours just for you.
Something has to flow.
When water runs over your shoulders and down the drain
like the wisdom of the world.
In the brevity of your light I stole a slice of the sun for my own.
Lying deep inside a dormant orbit.
As the rain begins to weigh you down like the gravity of Jupiter.
My light, my love will be all yours.
Lay with me and tonight we'll steal the moon once more.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
Bright vegetables of the sea,
disordered hair, thin arms.
Tubes protrude among vivid coral,
an array of shades against a sapphire canvas.
Wobbly vermilion wires poke out
from under rust-coloured rocks.
A clown swims quick through the middle,
orange in a forest of fingers.
Pink bonbons, candy canes,
an underwater confectionery store.
Some throb with electricity,
small pools of violet light near their homes.
Others ***** rainbows
from deep open mouths.
Waltzing in solitude
as tangerine horses gallop.
More creatures weave past,
realise they are in a multi-hued hug.
Hidden paint splatters,
are they aliens of the deep?
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
Oh why, oh why do we all have to die?
Accident's and suicide is it really all that better on the other side?
Car crashes and burning buildings, now we are all dead;
Jumping from not so safe buildings and playing with not so toy guns;
Chalk outlines and splatters on the walls.
My oh my, what has happened to us all?
I see my death before I die with my very own eyes.
I'm just so done with watching my death a thousand different times on rewind.
And ever night I scream inside and in these dreams my skin is bleeding and my face is pale.
The water's flowing and sirens are going.
I'm hanging there with rope tied around my throat.
And in these dreams I replay a thousand times in my mind I always end up dying.
In reality I'm only sitting there crying.
A wish to come true after I'm through with high school because a pact was made to save my life,
But now I've been slowly dying.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
Between the din of dusk and dawn
Runs Sleepy Pillow Lane,
Where gators guard the Gates of Thorn
And cryptid creatures reign.
They glide across the midnight sky
Like grime in sanguine sewers;
White canines long and talons drawn
Spike rodents on a skewer.
Gray giants glare from full-moon eyes,
A ghastly ghoulish spell;
Sweet sleepers swell the wells of Nile
While centaurs swing the bell.
Horned vipers writhe into your fears
Like scythes through strangled weeds;
And severed heads of angel hair
From shouldered stumps relieved.
A putrid pile of newly-deads
Awaits the devil's scorn;
And legless maggots gorge in beds
From which the fly is born.
Hungry hyenas howl in packs
While circling carrions crow;
And chunks of flesh are torn from backs
Cracking bones bare below.
Scavengers feast on man and beast,
No rotting limb is spared;
From hanging tongues to napping feet
Blood splatters everywhere.
Brimstone and thunder fill the air
With hail presaging doom;
Ten toothless witches shriek and cheer
As zombies creep from tombs.
Masked mummies stalk with stakes and stones
In search of sleeping heads;
They crave the skulls and living bones
Of bodies slumped in bed.
Through R.E.M. you toss and turn
And roll on restless wheels;
Alas Red Rooster blows his horn
To end your grim ordeal....
~ P
(January, 2013)
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
My apologies leave a dry throat with a sting
Another and another fall from a limp jaw
Another from pale lips
And again from bleeding wrists
My apologies are written in blood
And spilling from one last kiss
Soaking into your skin
Sinking through the surface
And my apologies burst from my skull as the bullet shatters my bone
And regret splatters across the wall
Written in blood is nothing but
"I'm sorry"
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
...my mom tells me as she tucks me to sleep.
Her eyes are bright blue with similarities to the Tenerife Sea. Solid, bright but with an icy touch. I believe her.
Then my eyelids flutter open after a kiss and I stare into a young man’s brown eyes. Solid, deep, full, sincere, warm. I trust him more than I should.
My own eyes aren’t that easy to decode. They’re a complete mess.
A chaos of color conflicting with eachother, instead of settling on one.
Blue when I wake up,but green when I step outside.
If eyes really are the windows to the soul what does that say about me?
Am I splatters of different colors floating around like petals in a mysterious endless lake in the forbidden part of the forest?
Am I a rainbow only to be seen clearly when both rain and sun hits upon me?
Am I a bouquet filled with different flowers plucked different places with different stories?
Forests are easy to get lost i.
Lakes are easy to drown in.
Rainbows are not tangible.
Flowers are pretty but their lifespan is short after having been plucked.
I wish I wasn’t a chaotic mess.
That I wasn’t torn in between the things I want, the things I can, the things I have, the things I want to be.
I hope that one day my eyes and mind will make up their will.
But for right now, I my eyes may stay a chameleon.
Only seen by those who really see.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Rainbow sketchbooks and chocolate lay down,
on the wooden desk paid with broken cells.
The foundation *** which has lied to all the eyes,
hiding scars from my selfish life.
Money, shiny pennies from many, off of my father,
who will see my shine one day.
The drinks of cancer, which I force down,
hoping one day, they end my life as well.
The smell of lavender, purple flowers,
the spring is blooming my heart.
The stars are shining in shapes of torture,
the funny part of this joke is the truth.
Pillows, which are not made from luxury,
they are rather downfall when it comes to appearance.
Yet the softness, the cold textured feeling,
it warms my cheeks up with sweet medicine.
Lip gloss, I had once wore to attract a male,
who no longer cares for me in the fashion I wish.
Pink, red and blue… cream splatters all over my cheeks,
my eyes are green faded jewels lost in track.
Pictured life moments surround me,
her voice cuddled me to sleep,
when nobody would listen to my painful cries,
I once cried the tears of many hurtful lives.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
Splatters of dark red,
On dirt canvas littered with holes,
Such is art of war.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC