"strangulating" poems
Liberalizing democracy
To the extent of
Embracing **********
Going out of one's way
To promote ****** orientation--
Is no less transgression
Than strangulating it
With iron censorship--
Simply touting
The government
Is immaculate!
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
The door slid silently into position
Utter panic wrote its epitaph before
The air resisted, collapsing your boxed
Voice, hiccupping to a captured halt
Scrawny syllables, whithering
Slogans designed to entangle, split
Personality in tow, pushing sickening
Sentences to the back of your throat
Gagging the saliva of terror burning
Apart effortlessly. Remorse did not attend
Strangulating the heaving mass.........
The handle remained unturned, imagined
Fear felled you, trapped consciousness
Performing blackouts, dragging into a
Well of invisible discipline, conjuring
Paranoid stifling circles to spy with menace
Fading fast, blinking on hold, staring out
Slow motion heart rhythm journeyed
To cold climates leaving warmth unaccounted
For and you left on the cold cold slab
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
(insert generic death metal song title here one)
Human blood bath
Soak in ********* and human waste
Got a taste for the diseased human race
Acid melting face
Drink from the spewing flesh
Gurgle and gargle to the dying beat
Of a victims last gulp of tarnished breath
(insert generic death metal song title here two)
Skull cracked and bleeding
Blood **** filled wounds seeping
Immaculate Christ unjaded
Aborted abortion
Born and bathed in afterbirth
Blown and constipated in foreign ***** matter
Torn from arms of zombie flesh
Decaying in the hot summer sun
Baked in the hot summer sun
(insert generic death metal song title here three)
Trash my intended victim with nothing better to do
Than torture **** **** and torture some more
Death does not last in the flesh
Emancipated from life
Just a breath away from dying
Hang on to the threads of the noose
Strangulating the frustrating last gasp of air
Torture **** **** and torture some more
Out of boredom and out of time
Boredom kills
You better watch out
I’m coming for you
(insert generic death metal song title here four)
Hollow eye sockets
Wretched
Reeking
Filthy ****
Plastered on crimson caked hands
****** dirt beneath the fingernails
Scratches scraped in the walls
From bodies dragged thru the hall
Down the stairs to the killing room
Meat hook art show of disembodied
And disemboweled corpses
Dismembered in some horrorshow freakshow
Bowl of human remains cooked on the stove
For this years All-You-Can-Eat chili fest
Lick savory lips with salted tongue
Hunger pains from cannibalistic urges
The brain tastes best when paired with a good wine
Eat, drink, and be merry
Tomorrow you’re on the menu
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
Life is a diverse garden
filled with many different plants
all trying their best to survive
some are ground covering gems
others weeds strangulating the masses
and depriving them of the nourishment
that allows them to blossom into beautiful
bouquets within shared plots.
the strong looking after the weak
the young respecting the old
where they are tolerant of each others
environment and; the need to exist
learning about each others growth and culture
what nutrients they all need to survive
in close proximity to one another
given food from the same ***
the flowers are the colour of the rainbow
learning to bloom in equal measure
in a place where they are all beautiful
not shunned because they are slow to blossom
or were not given the right start as seedlings
nurtured into strong upright plants
organic matter that does matter
within the diverse garden of life.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 3:03 PM UTC
It's everywhere I go :
What once leached over a dark corner
mutilated,
grew faster and stronger
A different shape everytime
yet the same core
Countless,
rot.
Like a radar
shivers climb my spine
as It gets closer
and closer
to Its prey
The strangulating reek
thicker
and thicker.
As I float farther away
from the distorted
distant sounds of the crowds
and dive into utter blackness
I can almost taste the decay
from Its crumbling mask
My body quietly shivers
It gowls
The beast is awaken
Starving
his loathsome breath cutting my left cheek
I feel It growing
ready to attack.
The bus halts
I shut my eyes,
resisting the sudden ray of light
that brought me back to life
freeing me from Its clasp
It crawls back to darkness
waiting for Its next victim
at the next stop.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 4:12 PM UTC
The heart has become cold as stone
Love is confined to the solitary confines
Feelings straitjacketed with force
Hands that once caressed left immobile
Cannot wipe the tears of remorse
Soul is restrained to regain any feelings
Strangulating every ounce of hope
Love, once that spoke of a future
Now, has made the present, a torture
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Words tumbled out of an aluminum commode
into a hungry mouth: naïveté.
Libations atop a tin altar
in a squalid temple rife with the stench
of lascivious youth
bemoaned battle cry
transcendent in the sound of forever.
Coming of Age
a cleverly disguised charade
kept in place
by a smile that never breaks
until dawn.
White noise
cryptic static
proselytize
vomiting mucus-draining corpses
a parade of mindless disciples
dancing to the beat
of the heart in a distant star
whose life perished in the forgotten past.
Fabricated promises of maturation
facetiae in the frozen teeth that
only part for the stubborn tongue to
lap up remaining consciousness on the floor
like a begging dog.
By himself he's weak
but among many he's a god.
A song bludgeons the eardrums
"Tonight, tonight, to-night": Repetitio est mater studiorum.
There's a voice in my head but
you put a hand o'er it's mouth
and pried mine open with
the monkey's paw
clutching a rose goblet
containing spiritual cleansing.
I've got a good idea
but bad intentions
and there's enough feculence wrapped in flesh and lies
to make this place feel like Heaven.
Stuffing my mouth with promises and
fallacies
that won't become clear until the
bottle is empty.
I'm washing away all the pain
and the hurt
right?
I'm a man now, risen from the
dirt
right?
I'll put my trust in the siren's call
reaching through the fog to grasp
her by the hair
I fall into the murky bog
beleaguered by strangulating tendrils
wrapping around my frail bones
I feel I'm being pulled under
and I'm all alone
I see their shimmering faces on the surface
distorted
in the reflection
peering into the soul as I
make my descent into the abyss.
Waking up a man with a
battered conscience
Compromise wraps a warm blanket around
me and places coffee between
crusty and brittle fingers
A gentle kiss on my forehead
is the finishing touch
leaving me alone with my baleful torment.
Coming of Age is a charade.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
Demons build their nest in your throat
Strangulating
Led by a black eyed goat
Baphomet
You sin then renounce your sins
Hypocrisy
And lay down your arms to the battle within
Damnation
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
I, like a matrix...
transpose myself and my ability to feel
into a sentient being (quite
immense , a task)
If you ask?
Reflect the element A to the I
as A feels:
repeat the processes
until we return...
with the feelings of the other,
intact; sharing the burdens
emotions, the hard facts
felt not with tactile touch
but,
through compassion. It may
take triangulating or strangulating reason, departing
from the safe sanity (in);
It may take Egotism to think that way.
Use your imagination.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
I) Revolutionary
When things
Go out of hand
When citizens
Clamor for their demand,
With snipers
We shall scatter
Them like
Wind-blown sand.
"Embrace what we say!"
Is the order of the day.
Respect to elites, the elderly
Religious leaders and
Also sacred moral values
Do not pay.
Anti-terrorist law
Stifling media law
Strangulating civic society law
Dampening election law
...
Every law seen low
We shall offer
As a political slaw.
II) Democracy
International aid or loan
When we seek,
A democracy cap
For media consumption
We will pick,
Putting in play actors'
Mouths words
Via which we speak.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 4:54 AM UTC
a good poem comes
from a destructive soul
agony
pain
heartache
every emotion
ripped to shreds
spewed words
filled with contempt
words that burst
from outlined fonts
to explode
before the eyes
of the willing
we seek those
who are desperate to grasp
just one sentence
of pure and utter
depravity
we don't want
sing song
we want descriptive
paragraphs
that come from
a war torn
soul
we want
battered feelings
left to wither
and die
among the fingertips
of a keyboard
we want the depressed
degenerated
perverted
mind
to produce
a colorful, kick in your face
strangulating
paragraph
that swirls, flows
and cascades
into the thirsty heads
of the ********
we want good poetry.
and we want it now.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
I cherish the music
Phantasms in the audio
The smell and the touch
When it comes to you
Dear Music Man
You leave me with a musical mania
Come on, Music Man
Take me by the hand
Honey, you’re so electric
You should come with a warning
Danger: high voltage
When we’re together
It feels like forever
We’ve got a live-wire energy
An electric sort of synergy
You’re the melody
I’m the lyrics
Melding together
The perfect composition
Good music on the score
Vibrations coming up through the floor
Our ***** touches will leave us sore
And wanting more
When your hands are on your guitar
I want them on my back
I want them on my hips
And I want your lips on my lips
And I want your voice in my bones
Shaking me
Shaking me
Shaking me
Men like you
Are admittedly a dime a dozen
But like a jukebox
I’d put a dime in you
Because I love listening
To your voice
It’s like a smooth, sustained cello line
A bass line dripping with warmth
Dropping in my heart
I was lying on my bed
Thoughts of you stuck in my head
When it’s heavy as lead
I know what you’ve said
And what you’ve sung
Will get me through
The nights
And the mornings
Where dreams
Thicken the loneliness
Of when you aren’t there
Or when anyone ain’t there
Just the slowly strangulating air
Dealt by hands
Belonging to a flutist
With the deeds of a duellist
Who makes me battle
Against the song I sing
Against the song I want to sing
Against the musical mania
Against the sing you sing
Against the song you want to sing
Against the Music Man
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:31 PM UTC
Some where buried in the deep blue
some buried in igneous rock
others snug in magma
on hit's beat best at the earth's core
When she decided to cold call them
most were watching repeats of lost in space
and whist baby sitting
strangulating the children of Eve
Some where buried under temples
some played sweet havoc on skies sleeping
but some had never left and never slept
some of the first where just liken to me
They would slip though times forgotten
until the end does come
to know that sweet time
you would have to ask one
We are as black as heaven
white as hell's sent tears
now all start to wake
all after so buried for years
All I want is peace
you here that from eve
but most do not care
buried all these ****** years
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
He said the choice is up to you..
red pill or blue.
The decision is as simple as waking up or staying asleep.
But what would you do if fact were weirder then fiction.
When one is not limited by diction but by how complex they can conceive.
Meaning if you can dream it, you can be it.
So you tell me to build a better dream.
But i like facts, figures and numbers that are true..
they never lied to me..
What about you?
How can i function in a world of imagination,
with autism strangulating my creativity to that of pure productivity.
I like what i do and humans to me are a mystery.
But when you tell me machines rule our reality,
how can you expect me to not elate,
how can you question my morality.
Oh the humanity...
by gosh Alice, i think i lost it.
But lost in the matrix i find it kinda nice here.
I find i like this glitch,
this rock,
this stitch,
my success,
my riches.
My life,
my existence that the machines gave me because i made my do.
I didnt seek for answers of the heart,
i found my peace in the age old nursery rhyme, 1+1=2.
So when it comes to pills,
ill make do...
with blue.
Cause sometime..
reality is what you make it.
And id rather put a bullet through my head and live forever... in the dream.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
As having an avid distain
for strangulating traffic
I chose to remain
FOREVER CIRCUITOUS
Choosing the path
of least resistance
I seek to flow with life
riding the proverbial wave.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 5:28 AM UTC
IMPATIENT
The tension,
it is building up,
it's like a coiled spring.
The eternal optimist's fast becoming pessimist,
she's waiting in the devil's wings,
She's dressed in strawberry jelly,
her eyes blood red,
not tears,
just lack of sleep,
as so she quivers,
she's waiting for the end result,
sleep,
sleep is so evasive,
when thoughts twist up your mind.
and so she sits and shivers.
Tossing and turning and drifting,
thought I should say,
maybe the time is nigh,
now hopefully all change.
Those who speak philosophy,
speak words,
they speak words of darkness falling heavier,
just before the dawn.
She sits and she waits,
impatiently,
for the rise of breaking dawn,
A strangulating game,
of you've just got to wait and see!
(C) Livvi
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
rain deluded, crops failed
at hand, mere grain-less hay
what to do, what to say
hopes ash-burnt, confidence frail
who to blemish the Nature or the Government
that has cunning put our lives on bait
Lost crops, lost all hopes
heart benumbed awaits the hanging rope
No one hears, the chocked dumb voice, how chocked all breaths
sophisticated mocks, merely rampant on strangulating penniless deaths
what i furrowed on arid farm of fate
Is mere awaiting pangs of death?
Miss fit to live, yet drag on
smiles fades, but not the frown
Now, not of others', but of my own vaunts
Hard to evade the soulless tongues’ taunts
poem by Mukund Malve, India (State of Maharashtra)
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 9:52 AM UTC
Let it remain
ovarian pure. After strangulating
the truth,
for hypoxic euphoria.
Flies in your face
the dirt,
the denial, the terracota
of superposition of speech
hiding self-interest.
Blackened crozier
for wrinkeled crotch
drops the ashes of love
on unopened buds.
Weeping willow sways
in warm winds of prayers.
Strawberry in holes
nothing like bruise.
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC