"tainting" poems
Having you
All I want and need
Petrichor in the air
Playing the devil with my love, you sinner
Infinities before us
Nemeses – I defeated them all
Evanescent beauty with age; growing love
Surreptitious gazes and love
Scintillas of a lunatic love tainting this happiness.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
It is in my blood
I can feel its presence
When it’s on the verge
To emit a surge, every time my heart beats
An impulse,
Scurrying it’s way through the crevasses of my brain.
Tainting the walls of grey matter with a tendency for unpredictability,
Out of my reach.
I hate it
I don’t want it
I never asked for this
I can’t slow my mind down
Thoughts so fast, hit me with whiplash
It’s insanity.
No.
I’m not insane
I can’t be
I’m rationale
I think about how I think about things,
Like it’s a cycle that never stops..
Which I guess could be my downfall
My vision says it all
When thoughts travel my mind
In dark tunnels at times
My eyes blind to the surroundings
Tunnel vision that make you claustrophobic;
You feel trapped
When all you see at the end of the tunnel,
Is the darkness of insanity
But..
I’m rationale
I acknowledge I have a tendency to be blind to my surroundings,
How can I be blind if I can clearly see?
Is life objective or subjective?
I just want to understand--
You're stupid —
What was that?
Felt like a surge, on the attack
An impulse
That voice
That’s it.
Unpredictability
That lies,
In my brain waiting to be brought to the surface
With the surge of an impulse.
It’s the insanity that taints me,
From seeing what really is
I’m not stupid, I’m a learner.
Granted with the gift of analysis,
But darkened by the cruel nature of impulse
To taint my minds innocence
I'm not scared to think about it anymore
I am insane, because it’s what you make of it.
Insanity grants me with the gift of perspective,
Throwing a million different ones my way
Ones that are positive and ones that are new
Traveling at hundreds of miles
And this even includes
All the negative perspectives as well
At the times when I don’t want to hear them.
Insanity must be embraced and never repressed.
Repression tells you no don’t do that, it’s wrong.
When insanity isn’t embraced, it is feared.
When something that’s inevitable is feared
You’re no longer insane,
You’ve completely lost it.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
“Yorkshire! Yorkshire!” I hear the EDL scream,
as if somehow the county, relates to their regime?
Trying to push on others their far right views,
and tainting Yorkshire with their taboos
cos Yorkshire to me, is whatever the **** I want it to be,
I do love a bit of local pride...
maybe to revel in the comfort it provides,
and even though stereotypes say we're tight,
as well as stubborn, argumentative (they're prolly right),
But I'd rather that, than be uptight,
like a stereotypical southerner might
I recently read a quote from Stuart Maconie,
“England has a bottom half,
but there isn't a south, in the same way there's a north”
The North in the south means desolation,
A cultural wasteland with deserted stations,
a place built on violent, aggressive foundations,
With mid summer Arctic temperature fluctuations,
Nothing that comes close to a nation....
But that's not what I see,
To be from the north means good fish and chips,
with tomato sauce and vinegar, it's glory on the lips,
I see people willing to lend a hand,
A honest chat about the weather as you stand at a bus stop
that you never planned,
It doesn't matter whether it's a cob, bun, bap, barm or roll,
Or that the north was ****** over by the outsourcing of coal,
Or your opinion that we're all just sat on the dole, drinking tea out of a ***** bowl.
We should still all have a similar goal,
To have a good time,
and not hurt a soul
Sometimes I do like to revel in the divide,
but I'll always welcome people from the other side,
Acceptance is not sin,
and if you let it,
it generally ends up with a win : win
What's Yorkshire to you? I haven't got a clue... but come sit down so we can have a chat and a brew! And hopefully we'll both learn something we never knew.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
You make my skin crawl,
Like writhing maggots beneath,
Like the innocent child's scrawls,
Tainting my canvas, my skin.
Your words, they pierce me,
Like the ***** of a needle.
Caressing, so fatally,
Over the scarred, raised skin,
The years of mistreat,
Has treated me harsh,
Showing meat so starved,
Brittle bones over skin.
The world! Such a joke,
Made of him, her and you.
My existence, mere smoke,
Our stories, nothing but skin.
For skin show where we've traversed,
The roads we have trod,
A beautiful canvas,
Of cools, brights and skin.
I am proud of my masterpiece,
It's whittled into my skin.
From the lines embossed to my chest,
To the intricate blend of colors,
The white spiraling scars,
Etched deeper than skin.
Here I stand,
Here I scream.
Proud of the bands,
That bind me as one, my skin.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.
I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******
The perky *******
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
i'll tattoo these emotions across my wrists
because they're choking me all the way through my skin
wrapping around my veins
tainting my soul like a sick liquor
and no one will understand this suffocation
this slow sort of cancer spreading along my neurons
the numb stage is over
my smile now appears
but it's warped and it's deranged
just like the scars i create
i've been crying for hours
and there's no end in sight
and my nerves are exposed
innocent words
cut to the bone
i climb higher and higher
i topple over the edge
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
I name all of my lovers after months now
and all roads lead to August and
the Roman cities we’ve burned —
how she walked on crumbling streets as I held the matches —
this poem is a page for burning at its tip:
a lone match, scalding — a firelit kiss
but the flames have always been a hypnotic sight
like a woman perched in your sunlit bed —
her hair, red as flames licking my neck,
red as love that bleeds on itself;
it leaves a stain on pretty things.
Now her skin has silk sheets burning away
like banners in a Roman cathedral,
her half-breath kisses, dying — now embers,
tainting my dress black where her lips had staked a claim.
Now her touch is wildfire crawling on my skin
and I am a wounded doe — waiting. waiting.
waiting.
The only world I know burns to the ground
before my very eyes
and we are no phoenixes, darling; all we do is burn.
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 6:26 AM UTC
your first step on the road to "recovery"
was to tape words on your reflection
colors littered with senseless lessons
colors littered with senseless rules
your second step on the road to "recovery"
was to trail words on the thin walls
tainting the white trim of your door
the words were like water seeping from
your demon flooded bedroom
your third step on the road to "recovery"
was to illustrate the words in unsustainable images
literally photoshopped to the unachievable
recovery became self indulgence
you have a skewed sense of progress
thinking consuming the clean will clear you of your sins
but your sins are buried deep in the abandonment you kept hidden
in the hallows of your debt
self recovery cannot be found with words spat out of context
hanging on your reflection
self recovery is found when you reflect those words into context
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
I saw the familiar
rose-flush dust
shoot from my
fingertips,
the day
I finally
decided
to snap out of it.
I had forgotten what lived inside me.
I snapped again
at the
worrywart hut
I'd created
for myself
to live in.
And again, once more
for all time
gone
to my mind's
incessant banter
and going-on's
with
the
flirty,
too flirty,
doubting Adonnis.
The fog was heavy,
in its resilience against my
needs
to get it right,
overtaking me in confusion,
making me forget
the reality
that lay beyond it.
Its grip was choking,
sending me reeling
through a
soul-tainting realm
I hated
I knew so well,
grasping
for anything
to hold on to,
anything that
looked
like
Life.
So,
with the moon
tonight,
I weep
for the many suns
sacrificed
to
Unbelief
and
the parts of me
permitted to be
plagued
by
poison
and
malpurpose.
Though,
with the same tears,
I will thank my God
that I can at least
see
what lies
within me
and again, once more
while the moon is still bright
for the gift to feel
remorse.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
there is no sleep for tired eyes
as chance gives way to circumstance
backed into a corner, truth explodes
tainting all that ever was
coloring honesty with doubt
in hues of broken dreams
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
A body and soul stretched to extremes
Yin and yang
The most and least of both worlds
Opposite sides of the coin
Cleansing and pure
Tainting and pitch
Light and dark
Of the purest white
And the most tainted black
Earth and air and fire and water and aether
Sun and rain
The brightest and hottest fires of sun
Beating and firing heat from the bottomless flames of hell
Breaking into a cold sweat without cease
The flaming evil of health
Rain and sun
The darkest and iciest rain of clouds
Pouring and drenching from the endless pools of heaven
Chilling into a cleansing soak never long enough
The freezing good of pain
The contradictions, the back and forth
The intelligent confusion
The stupid direction
The leather and biker tough guy
The shy and bookish sweet girl
The false realities and true lies
Love in strangers and indifference in close friends
Hope in troubled times and loss in peaceful
Banding together the unlikelies
Separating the probabilities
Pain in love and happiness
Contentment in fear and despair
The sound of one hand clapping.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
people tell me that touching your lips to someone else's is the most magical experience in the universe.
i think that flying would a bit more extraordinary.
my first kiss
was in my back yard
on a trampoline with my ex girlfriend. we were playing spin the bottle
(i was secretly excited to kiss her, even though we weren't supposed to be in love anymore).
i expected berries
to explode in bursts of delightful flavor, on my tongue and tainting me with traces of cherry.
instead, all I tasted was lip gloss (not a good flavor) and my ex girlfriend as she reluctantly kissed back.
i doubt i'll play spin the bottle again after that.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 9:29 AM UTC
There's something majestic, yet also extremely gloomy, about a streetlight at night in the rain. Something, some unplaced dimension within the echoing cars and within the particles of water, as they spray...into oblivion
Mother, do you recall that rainy day?
The day my gumboots soaked through,
I beleive we were waiting for a bus. It was one of those city rains, when all you could dream of was home or the warmth and comfort. When all you wanted was a bath and hot-chocolate or another item of food, steaming with love. Mother, I remember holding to you're body for warmth as we sat under that old wooden bus shelter.
I clung to you're body and melted into you're lingering scent, you're falling breath and you're human form.
You held me, you hid you're shivers so as to warm mine.
We watched the cars spray etheral mist into the orange lights of the city.
We watched lovers rush by under umbrellas, we watched rain curve down the cement like a snake on it's own journey.
We listened,
oh did we ever listen, we ate up the noise, the stories within the rain, we cuddled until we felt the warmth from our bellies rise out of us like smoke or a dragons breath, tainting the air.
I, you're daughter. You, my mother.
You're long hair curling down your breast. Me, like a little berry scrunched up as close to you as I could get. Like our bodies would drip into each other as one, our breath the same. Only my gulps of air came much sooner and you silently resisted my subtle games. When the huddling was done you reached out to me with you're strong hands and you led me along the night of echoes. I can't remeber much else, asides from sitting with you in the empty pizza shop as we both savoured and satisfied our cravings for comfort. Cold-handed laughter as we danced over the most delectable pizza.
Then we caught the bus home, you sat on the red leather, grabbing the creamy yellow bar, I jumped onto the ratty blue seat beside you and leaned once again into you're body, melting into sweet harmonies.
Eating in the sounds of humans and the sound of the bus, splashing through water
and journeying on through the deep
and endless city night.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Gaze upon your sleeping figure
Wonder where I went wrong
How can I love you so deeply
If in your arms I don't belong?
How come goosebumps rise
When I hear or think of your name
Yet with your face inches away from mine
Our love just doesn't feel the same?
How can my eyes look and see
Perfection from bottom to top
But feel magnetic attraction fading
Powerless to make it stop?
How can I rely on you for such
An enormous portion of my happiness
If every token of generosity
Makes me worth less and less?
How is every sincere compliment able
To spill from your mouth true and clear
When we are both aware you deserve better?
I don't match the adjectives poured in my ear.
How did our easy conversation
Turn to spontaneous spiteful fight?
Understanding somehow replaced with animosity
At least we still share words late into the night.
How can I be chilled by a trace of fear
Tagging along with excitement up my spine?
How is darkness tainting all we know
Yet one touch from you and I'm fine?
How am I able to hate part of you
While loving the rest with all my heart?
How am I distant when you are around
Then miss you very much when we're apart?
How can my brain worship your image
After the extensive damage you've done?
If you cause me to to feel my absolute lowest
How could I still believe you are the one?
Lay beside your body wishing
To be close like we were before
How can I yearn so strongly for your embrace
If we don't feel right anymore?
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
Do you remember the night I came
down, and you were sitting on the
windowsill? One leg up and the
other left hanging, in one of your
white oversized shirts and your
hot-pink pajama pants. Outside
the snow fell like feathers, blue
in the moonlight and black in the
shadows, with a tinge of orange
from that annoying nearby streetlight.
You looked at me, saw me in my
blue boxer briefs and teal t-shirt,
and you didn’t say a word, and
neither did I. Neither of us had
to. I sat down beside you, a mirror
image, and we stared with deafening
expressions. The snow piled on
like feathers strewn across the
room of two lovers too happy to
control themselves. I looked into
the darkness, and you glanced at
the orange sun tainting the solemn
blue hue. And then you turned away,
walked away. I stayed, watching
the snow fall in the dark.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 9:33 PM UTC
People yearn for peace through the night
When they can only see by inferno light
A flame that engulfs the world
But begins in our hearts
We've been tainting this pearl
From the very start
When ****** is part of their plan
I honestly attempt to understand
But the tears I hate flood my brain
When fears create blood and pain
I'm willing to lose my agency
As long as they don't aim at me
We bang our heads on the wall
Until they roll on the floor
They built a ceiling so we'll fall
So we can't reach the door
I am no longer the man inside the estate
When I'm disenfranchised by the state
So I'm pushed to society's outskirts
For the people with whom I flirt
And my perceived net worth
But where one society ends another begins
And they all claim that I've committed sins
So I wander around
Just not inside towns
Where the bullets fly like the accusations
And productivity drains all inspiration
I live in the remote wilderness now
I hoped things wouldn't be so loud
I hear drum beats in the distance
They're explosions killing infants
But there's nowhere else to turn
And my lawn is starting to burn
Must I deal with the chaos colossus
Or could I continue playing possum?
Must I stare into the fiery abyss
To make it onto heaven's list?
Must I return to the mainland
To experience my final stand?
I will wrest sovereignty from them
I will rest in poverty until then
But I would rather have less money
Than subtract family members
They say you draw more flies with honey
But all the flies die in December
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 3:25 AM UTC
Longing, probably.
A feeling of need.
For things.
Places.
Longing, such a melodramatic word
Disgusting.
Dreams described as something so weak.
Almost rude
Saying these feelings, these needs
Are little more than a flight of fancy.
A lusting from a pubescent teen boy
Over some pin-up model.
Longing, needing, wanting...
I mean, ****** I NEED THESE THINGS is all
All that my ever-noisy mind screams
"I've seen your drawings.
"Your mind must be like an acid trip."
Not a good one.
Constant, consistent, ever-present, complete need for
Stupid, useless things
For people who give not a care in the world about me
Places that don't want me...
An acid trip, a bad one, dark voices yelling at me,
My guilt full of egotistical self-blame.
"Everything has to be someone's fault.
"Always.
"It must be mine."
My fault, my fault, mine mine mine
Always always my fault.
Stupid stupid
I can't even get things wrong right.
Or whatever.
******
Longing for understanding,
To understand my inner desires.
For things.
The rude word of longing
Tainting even the shameful wants and needs in my heart.
Stupid...
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
*Gone are the days of yore
When intellectualism was a preserve
Of the privileged and distinguished in society
A family ‘heirloom’ passed on to succeeding generations*
*Over the years the human mind
Has morphed into a think tank of awe and bamboozlement
An object for advancement…and destruction almost in equal measure
A portal to self-destruction
*Political pundits passionately discourse in the corridors
Of power over an issue as mundane as food taxes
Am ****** if this aint a move to subjugate the populace
Whilst reveling in the guise of representing the best interests of the electorate*
*It’s a slap in the face of reason and logic
A soiling and tainting of mother earth’s unconditional benevolence
Extended to her humble earthlings as bountiful harvest
But a means of self-aggrandizement it is for the politicians and their loyalists
Apparently this is *political correctness
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 5:40 AM UTC
Another hollow night of meaningless time spent trying to accumulate hours of sleep...
The clock seems stagnant during those minutes when I close my brain to escape the world
articulated before my eyes -
A world written in such a manner...
that perfect poetry blemishes the manifestation I lay before thee...
This perfect beauty... relevant seemingly only in the realms of language...
Tainting something lost adrift -
Something so pertinent... so... potent... but lost... lost adrift somewhere...
Only to be confined by our fabricated gratification of the meaning amidst the letters b e a u t y... Still resolved extraneously somewhere...
Somewhere lost adrift...
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
Night skies still murmur your name. Whilst wondering why this longing has since surpassed desperate, I sat-
Curled up, knees to chest
Clenching my flesh in hopes to hold on to my last ounce of existence.
I felt naught but daydreams of nightmares haunting me, relentlessly.
Preying on my thirst for passion
Destroying my notion of love-
Tainting my eternity.
-danielle A. Watson
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
A life lived in black and white. No time for middle of the road. Lines drawn straight and narrow. Passion, only with rules. Love, only as stated. A heart filled with admiration, adoration, and caring. Nothing missing from the list of "supposed to". All boxes checked off. I's dotted and T's crossed. Perfect on paper, perfect to onlookers, perfect in bed. Never a thought of something missing. All boxes checked. Not able to settle into a life. Unable to blur the lines. Must be good, always good. Mistakes happen, but not on purpose. Not by choice.
Always the good one
Right is the only option
Mistakes...still happen
Before we fully become, life is full of confusion. Who we are and what we do are enmeshed within our surroundings, our perspective, our emotion, and our lives. Pulled together, yet fighting every step of the way. Beyond our understanding of purpose or passion. Afraid of everything we are as yet unable to understand. Trying to get through to the next phase without falling too hard.
Peers skew vision
Rules confine the innocent
Love hides unnoticed
Grown into a life of checks and balances. A nice life, a good life. Loved by many, yet alone. Always alone. Able to love, willing to love, believing love is what is being lived. Unseen circumstances. Friendships remembered. Longing, pulling toward one another. More than passion could ever be. More than who we thought we were. The need to be right, to do the right thing, is stomped unrecognizable by emotion. The past melts into the future. Is a life unfulfilled, yet loving, enough to maintain, or is love supposed to be so full of passion that it takes you outside the box?
The thought of a life
A love left unrealized
A world in a cage
A chance to live in happiness. Fires burn in body and mind. No sorrow, no regret. Pushed by one into another. Two hearts alone run to each other. Holding fast to all that is real. Yet casualties will line the road forever tainting all that could be good. Checks and balances. Pros and cons. Does one give up happiness to maintain the perfect facade, the perfect family, the "perfect" life? There is no perfect. There is only what is. The possibility of happiness could be short lived. Hearts broken and bridges burned. Broken families, broken lives. Happiness could be tangible. Happiness could be real. Pros and cons. What price shall be paid. When should love lose and happiness not be a goal? Choices, pain, there is no fairness. There is no black and white, there are no boxes in which to fit.
Straight and narrow life
Checklists, I's dotted, T's crossed
Thwarted by passion
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 10:51 PM UTC
The lies
like dirt under
fingernails.
Call on your inner
Lady Macbeth
but no amount of scrubbing
can cleanse them.
They lie thick
on the tongue
tainting tastes
with blistered buds.
A thousand ants
marching on your
skin.
Unscratchable itch.
Descending into
madness.
Only truth can
set you free.
Only you can
free the truth.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
So lost, do I feel...
That what I once knew, will no longer appear.
Terror racks me deep inside,
Forever yearning what once stayed close by my side.
Desperation has bloomed beside my feet...
Screaming...
Pleading...
For what I most need.
With pen and paper taut by my side,
Shall my will continue to thrive,
Afore the ink in my pen dares to dry.
This mere extension of myself,
Paints the colors of my soul.
Of what one will never know,
'Till the new becomes the old.
Too long have these words gone unsaid,
Tainting the many pure thoughts, that have swam through my head.
Trapped deep within my heart so dear,
All of my passions, now contorted with fear.
Curiosity forever sealed within its cage,
Fighting,
Crying,
Desperately wishing to be saved.
A key-less lock hangs loosely,
Taunting those it may.
Holding the door of my prism open, yet preventing any escape
As my lifelong dreams bitterly scream my name.
I cringe,
Shying away from the guilt.
For locking away my desires
And abandoning my will.
Will you ever forgive me?
For leaving you so alone
To gather up dust and grime,
And wander without a home.
Will I ever forgive me,
For deserting my only hope.
Locking it deep within my soul,
Till my hand moved once more.
Spreading my blood across the parchment,
Forever earning my own name.
Holding tight onto reality,
Unwilling to look fantasy in the face.
Creating the key to my own prism,
Will I protect this sacred place.
Sword and shield,
'Til infinity fades,
Do I vow.
© 2013 SparksLC
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC