"suturing" poems
just when the dust
settles round my lust
and the thud
of despair hits bottom
just as I flail
and swim in this
blood-caked,
soulless earth
soup of the lost
abyss of unbirth
you plunge my wilderness
charred with remains
from hellfire
and we breathe
halos
our bones lighted sticks,
colors rising in
angel arcs
Your rib cage
is open
for my tremulous offering
as my lips imprint
a crimson O
upon the earthquake
of your chest
I am still down with the
earthworms
wrist **** sopped
by soil
arteries, bashed
split to the root
by verbal hurts
in a sliding psyche of oil
yet here you are
suturing wounds
with whiplash kisses
saltlick moans in my throat
You wrap me in gauze
through the imprint of your eyes
turn my cuts
into fresh brook
gaze upon my
deepest darkness
like goddess worship shrine
my **** is a funnel
for your whipped light
sacrifice ****** prayer
skinned to the core
all layers exposed
your lips slick
with the drip
of my bliss,
deep juice of
freshly-caught
jungle hum
all is bared
we stop at nothing
paint our tongues
with tears
adorn the face of death
with ripe guava
and, as you scream
my name into
a blown glass whisper
my soft fruit
falls into
the heat of
your palm
somewhere
in distance
a
moon
explodes
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 11:42 AM UTC
An Open Letter to my Best Friend
You, dear are the strongest person I know,
And trust me when I say, I know a lot of people.
You stand, rooted as deep as an oak tree in my heart
Your eyes find their way into my dreams, burning with passion and fired belief.
Your sorrow matches the winds of the sea
Constantly badgering you
With the threat of drowning,
I'm so scared you'll take yourself from me.
Your voice is something,
I can only be thankful for
Coming to me in times of need
It has all the power to make my heart soar, suturing the bleed.
Your dreams,
You've been told,
Are far fetched at best
And unachievable at most.
What people don't understand
Is unicorns are shy creatures
Who just don't have the heart
To prove they exist.
Even though they run free,
Jump high
And take great pride
(Their horns are always meticulously shined.)
I think back on the times
You taught me to be strong
Without even knowing
You were consistently adding words
To my life's song.
The melody just a little sweeter
While it plays in my head
Added like you do with sugar to your coffee before bed.
Sparingly,
But needed.
Oh so very needed.
You, my darling, have your roots dug deep
Your dreams being dreamed
Your life, I do believe
Is worth so much more than an amount that any bank could offer,
Is worth more than the english language can explore,
And all I need you need to remember,
The alphabet is composed of 26 letters,
Voldemort wasn't always in power,
take each insult
And pull a Tom Marvolo Riddle out
of the sorting hat.
Believe that the positive outweighs the negative,
And yes that means your scale is wrong.
Tumblr's idea of pretty girls,
Doesn't take place in my song.
So this is an open letter,
To my very best friend.
Darling, please know
You can always depend
and lean
and cry on
and hate
and call
and love
and trust
me.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
I..am a collector of words;
Words that weave together
To form the clauses
that blossom into stories; people’s stories.
Words that keep secrets, spin lies,
Howl profound confessions from the rooftops of minds
Rushing out and over the ledges of lips to fall
On ears that do not listen—floating
Story after story, finally reaching the ground—forgotten.
On the sidewalk lay the slain and mangled things;
Victims of gravity—of silence that refused to break—
Of ears that refused to listen.
i… am the undertaker of the alphabet city.
I pick up the fallen, garbled, and lifeless;
Carting them away to the depths of my mind
Cataloguing, keeping, revering the reverberating vibrations.
my ears hear what is yearning to be heard
they acknowledge the wants of language.
I practice the Resuscitation of monologues
and the Defibrillation of forgotten phrases
an EMT of etymology,
I coagulate the bloodied and heartfelt confessions of lovers
suturing the spaces between breathless sentences.
prophetic Disambiguations clutch at gray matter and claw through flesh
tearing the tethered syllables from which meanings are formed.
I twist plot like a lemon twists martinis
Weaving tales that intertwine like the digits in math
or my hands when you held them in your own.
clasped shut.
tongue-tied is just another term for french kiss
and it is hard for you to find the right words to say
because I, a collector, have caught every last one from your lips.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Devoured by the folly of the fallible, in the hipnotical fossils, of the future, suturing the nature, of nurtured suitors, to better the maneuvers, of gene polluters, spreading the demur, of social lure, for the fewer to mature into free will.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 12:34 AM UTC
Hello
H̵e̵l̵l̵ is lo
Grand Rising
Mind the Do
No Boundary -No burden Man
No Foundry -No Smoking plants
See....(d)s))
We had lived out the ghet̴̹̥̲͈̤̬̘̪͇̗̰̣̼̖͊́̌̃̆̑͊̀̉̓̓̇̋̃̈́ͅṯ̵̢̢͙̹̌̍̽̾̌̃͛̆̔̾̃̚ǫ̴͓̠̳̤͍̜̙̣̳͎͇̳̝̮̆̀̊̅͜.
( at E.) Alaska and poverty w̵̢̢͇̱͔̻̹̪̞̰̬̱̻̉̂͛̏̔̕à̷͔͕̦̭̾̿̌͗͐̕͘͠ÿ̶̝̯̲͈̪̠̥̗͈̼͔̮̖̆͋͛̓̎̍̍̄̿̽͜͠
Been smoking off sphagedro
Don't ask (me) how
the property paid
We had convinced ourselves
this was poverty made,
this was the way
it was the mental
Rather than how to properly pave...
Stop and get saved. We'd rob and rip r̴̟̗͔̣̋̽͂̑̐̍͒́͒́͘ạ̶̡̡̡̭͍̥͔̖͓̜̥͎̩͙̓͌ves
To tap into ley lines , we laid ̶l̵i̶n̵e̴s̵
to hear one another?
Why?
We fade minds to the sidelines
Existence is another mother consumed
Tripped im a land mind
everyday, it was essential
Felt like we saved lives
just by saying
Hi
Who was I supposed to be then
how am I poised to po̸̢̧̡̙̟̥͉̮͈̮͇͇̎͂͌̇̀̃͘͜͜se now?
H̵e̵l̵l̵ is empty
And all the devils are he̶͔͂̿̀re
Don't come and tempt me
And All the bedouins near
the d̵̢̨͈̫̦͈͈̦̣̯̼̔͛̔̅̾͝ͅͅa̷̼̠̱̥̪̥̗̫͖̞̱̻̻͐͒̅́̌̾͜͝r̵̡̨̼̰͉̜̝̳̥͕͇͐̅̈̍̚͜ķ̴͇̖̳̦̞̞̯̲̖̾̈͌̀̀̍̀̈́͗͗́̌͑̅͘͘can be a low hum
That low hum f̵̛̞̲̞̮̙͚̠̮̀̋̆̓͂̓̓̄̔̃̈́̋́̀̐̍͘͘a̷̛͉̭̤̩̳͓̰̦͍͕͈̥̜̣̟̥̼̍̍̃̔̇̄̈́̅̔̚l̴̢̪̮̗̺̗̭̉́̇́l̶̢̢̧̰̰̞̹̙̣̳̩̱̙̀́̏̊̓̓́͘ ̶̛͔͔͓͙̥̫̩͇̭̩̜̻̹̇̅̄͗̐́̒̂̈́͛̀͂͋̚͘ to a dull ***
*** turn silence to the doldrum̴̬͔̰̠̠̳̫̠̠̣̫̺̠̝͍͙̎̌̓̽̌͋̍͛̔̂͌͑̔̂̃̊̎́̄̈́́̕͘͘͠ͅ
** hum eve, press up the tress
the shadow be a pit fall,
mess up your knees
a void in eve become
a slow shade seed
Devoid of the needs
beckon doe ray me
its beyond whats in the fire
in the propane, key
Heating up with Sour D
Pushing to get pro-paid
(C)see)()()
Halo with the dome braid
Angel with the co-pay
Singing singles with lonely
Singing for the lonely!
When did culture become business?
When my business became the culture...
Its not a bug, its a feature,
long exposure measure
the posture of composure,
Who could torture the Rapture,
The picture is the culture
self- Suturing the Future
its a self-evident thing,
so potent it ring
Bout to help Erich architect
A co̴̡̢̰͕͈̦̲̤͖͇̯̮̬̟͍͙̥͉͍͚̳̙͕̫̣͍͓̙͓̖̮͇̼̞̗͇̺̎͗̄̇́͜rner outta the ring
carve a Stone outta the wing
Dem B̶̛̻͇̺̻̣́͑͗̑̽͐̑̍̂͒̀̇̚̚͝͝ǫ̷̨̨̭̲̪̝͎̹̰̺̈́͛̔̓̍̎͆́̉̅̊̈́̒̕͝ň̸̼̞̯̟̱͓̙͈̫͚̙͎̱̝̣̌͜͜͠͝ẽ̴͖̓͊̊͝ gotta be prouda king
But Whats the sound when it sing?
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 11:16 PM UTC
_you are healing every broken piece of me, one by one. you're filling up the holes in my heart. you're mending all my broken bones. you're suturing all my deep cuts. you're kissing all my scars. you're healing me. you are replacing all my heart ache with love. the battle wounds i obtained from previous relationships are almost gone now. all because of you. i've never trusted my well-being with a person like this. you are my lifeline. and if you left, i would surely die. ten billion bullets right through my chest, leaving me breathless. i trust you not to pull the trigger._
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
She wove life from the threads and fate of dreams and she was and wasn't a dream herself
She had filled the first hourglass with the sand of the desserts of the time before and upon flipping it over set the hands and gears of the first clock in motion
There is no secret buried in the endless depths of the ocean she doesn't know and she was the one that had arranged and named every twinkling orb in the night sky
Using nothing but a small kiss and a sprinkle of magic from the colors of her eyes she brought dead starfish back to life and taught them to dance in the palms of her hands
And when she wasn't choreographing new ballets for the fish in her hands and the stars in the sky
She was collecting lost dreams and broken hearts and suturing the cracks closed and finding them new roads to follow and teaching laughter to the tears they had shed
And if you are every lost between always and heartache if you follow the roads and the sky of the starfish ballet you will find her sitting and waiting to weave you a new day and a new dream and a new fate under the street sign that reads
Oceans End
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
God is not the cotton seedling that grows tall within manmade furrows , coloring the land as the first snow of Winter .. Jehovah is the quilting thread binding all of creation , suturing the thoughts of men in their moment of frailty and despair , tethering the covenant between Heaven and Earth ...
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
how terrible it must be
to have only two feet to walk with., my sweet.
how abhorrent, the torrent of gimp.
you are not kind, but kinda die more than our lasting -
and have ever been fasting in the break of our ventures...
suturing the succulent bog of my wound till blown glass is ****** dry... humorlessly.
you are with me... but
not with I
that stalks the reason.
you are with the one
whom's cup runneth over, and traipses thru the flint gleam
of our founding urge. the dirge forge of our burning inert !
' We' are where it hurts... and you might be clever
but you slug at love's light speed
to put the brakes to a freight
of infinite need.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
I saw you in my sleep,
Dreaming of you mending
Stitching
Repairing the unraveled seams
Suturing the unkept promises
Sewing my ****** vessel
Back together
Watching as the needle and thread
Mesh with the blood and flesh
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
I took a walk for Sydney down the beach into the waves,
The ocean churning at my feet, icy,
White foam caressing pale toes trodden in black sand.
I imagined two hands,
Yours and mine intertwined,
The rare joy sparking in your face despite the cold.
I think about the wind whipping our hair back,
Laughter as the water soaked our pants.
I wouldn’t have minded.
For you, Sydney, I will dance in the sand, swim in the frigid ocean,
Twirl as the sun dries our clothes.
For you, Sydney, I will cast off my shoes with reckless abandon,
Forget sensory issues and the need for socks.
For you, Sydney, I will find joy in both the most beautiful and hardest of places.
You deserve only the best from me.
I took a walk for Sydney, down the beach amongst memories,
Your tears falling amongst their salty brethren.
Haven’t you heard how salt water heals old wounds?
For you, Sydney,
I will master the art of suturing the psyche,
Learn to bend time and space,
Inching the edges of the divide together,
Closing the injuries of your heart.
For you Sydney,
I walk down this beach with light feet and heavy chest.
I am yours, always have been.
For you Sydney,
I will hold hands, no autistic space bubble as I sit with you in your sadness.
I will wipe your face and hold your body against mine.
I will fight the monsters that seemed to steal the air out of the room.
I will search for meaning amongst these sounds,
Find depths in the swells and crests,
I will look for you amongst the proud rocks that jut towards the sky,
I will find you where you loved the hardest and the most,
In the beauty you forgot existed all around you.
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
Lightning lives
between your fingers,
flashing silver inside
a handful of night
suturing blood
with exigence
through a needle’s eye,
with one hand kissed
by a shower of shrapnel
and the other twisted
in an infinite thread
tunneling light with
sublime precision.
Your needle
closes each gap open
with the cloth of Love
being woven
and each gap closed
holds me in this
lancinating tension,
as I slumber deep
in the currents of
your halcyon arms,
this world remains
tender and unbroken.
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 2:02 AM UTC
I want to take the words out of your mouth
Knot them around my tongue and pull them away
From the lick of your ****** lips
String them out word by word
For you to see all the pages of poetry
That slithers up your throat and into my ears
My eyes are a lust for you and the things you say
Aching and craving for every syllable muttered
Every word you write with moaned breath
Baiting me into lyrical euphoria
Your lexicon stitching up the vastness of space
Suturing wounds with your vocabulary
I want to take the words out of your mouth
And put them on Hollywood billboards
For everyone to read
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 11:15 AM UTC
an accumulation of
the not-so-distant insofar as
a whelm of cafard..
it is something that my hands
have seen with their drones,
something that bloviates
with intermittent speech,
a reaching-for-and-out hauling
of tempests as these
shadows renegade the dark
and join necessities of clarity
to combobulate their hue
into white without any trace of remembering, whatsoever.
yet in this scraping perimeter,
everything is within reach
yet unmoving - teeth do not gnash
anymore to grit their cadences,
mouths are swollen with something. a name perhaps? or a random memory of something we chortled about?
or were they bitten off by the fangs and their unrelenting incise,
suturing the lesions and removing the scabs of these wounds?
something that is purulent in laughter is just as crimson as in pain - these photographs watermarked by an effloresce of blood from which has lived once
in this world full in movement and in flesh now gone.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
bleeding emotions isn’t my fort
but sometimes these wounds of mine
open deep into the bone.
there’s a splinter stuck in my heart
I can’t pull it out no matter what
I say, God, oh God, help me heal
All I hear is “healing happens from within.”
Yet here i am suturing scars
While wounds remain untouched, left alone
As you see, bleeding emotions isn’t my fort
hence the why,
these wounds of mine have yet to **** me
you see
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 1:41 AM UTC
I look at the mirror in the morning
The reflection is hideous to me
It makes my stomach churn
And so I put on my mask
I look like a Harlequin
Filling the role is requisite
People laugh at my antics
Fire to cauterize my wounds
I look at my unfamiliar self
Peeling off the mask is a ritual
No one must see the pain
Few care to know the source
I look at your piercing eyes
The one who forces my smile
A chest to cry against
Bedside table to rest the mask
I look at the hole you left
Suturing the mask back on
Practicing the facetious art
Forever being the jester
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 8:30 AM UTC