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Sanjna Manoj Apr 2017
I never got the chance,
To see the outside world,
Since I was sacrificed,
For the honor of my family.

I sleep on the floor,
Right next to dogs,
I eat from the floor,
Just like a dog,
But I work for, a very honorable family.

My mother-in-law is loving,
She wants the best for me,
A daughter as a child would be bad right?
Us, being a family with honor and pride.

I was violated,
But my life was complete,
I married him,
The honor of the family wasn't tarnished at-least.

I don't want to marry,
My heart lies among the paints and brushes,
I shall marry,
My mind knows unmarried girls bring taints and shushes.

My brother gets home by 3am,
Me, 10 hours earlier,
My dreams, my life, my need for freedom?
These don't bring honor to the family.

My aunt died,
I will too,
My husband passed away,
Awaiting me are flames that flare and sway.

Our lives are a necessary sacrifice,
Our families should live, with honor and pride.
KG May 2014
When people hear the word, depressed,
They visualize sullen teenagers dressed in black with slits on their wrists.
But, many fail to recognize,
That depression is not always a physical manifestation.
That most suffer in suffocating silence.

Depression is drowning in an ocean poisoned with your own thoughts.
Depression is the guarded prison of your mind with no means of escape.
Depression is the absence of love, the absence of light, and the absence of hope.

It envelops your mind with a blanket of darkness.
It taints your soul with unbearable numbness.
It reminds you every waking second that you are not good enough.

You’re worthless
You’re alone


When people heard the word depressed,

They visualize attention seekers

But many fail to recognize depression does not stem from desire to be pitied.

That most want to create an illusion of happiness.

Depression is plastering a smile on your face everyday
And releasing a torrent of tears,
Cascading uncontrollably into your pillow every night.  

Depression is saying,
“I’m just tired”,
“I’m fine”
When someone asks if you’re okay.

But inside,

You are screaming desperately for help.
Yet you remain silent.

Because you are stronger than that.
Because you’re ashamed of yourself.
Because you think nobody would even care.

You are scared they will tell you

“You’re just looking for attention”

"That’s just life"

“Just be happy”

“You’re so ungrateful”

But, depression isn’t about seeking attention.
It is about waking up, pretending you are okay, and going back to sleep.
It is about isolating yourself from the world.
Closing the door, drawing the blinds, and crawling under the covers in a desperate attempt to shut them out.

Depression is when the greatest accomplishment of the day is mustering the strength to get out of the bed that cradles you in its safe cocoon.

That every morning you wake up, disappointment that you still exist.
Because life doesn’t seem worth living anymore.

Depression is chronic fatigue
Depression is the lack of motivation

Depression is complete and utter despair

Depression is regarded as a lack of personal strength

Depression is considered to be a weakness.

But depression is a real illness

And those who live in its suffocating grasp are the strongest of all.
Alyssa O Nov 2012
The bitter taste of resentment
As the dish of revenge grows colder
Waiting, watching, planning
As you get older and older

You stall until the perfect moment
When he will pay for the things he's done
As the time strikes, you pounce
And after all that time you've won

Your patience has finally paid off
His breath no longer taints the air
He's gone from this world forever
It's his own fault that no one cares
Inspired by the quote "Revenge is a dish best served cold." -Shakespeare
Tony Scallo Nov 2014
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.


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

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.


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.
"You're only given one spark of madness, you musn't lose it." - Robin Williams
The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
I name no name, but hell's own flame
Illumes the lobby garish,
A gilded snare just off Times Square
For the maidens of the parish.

The revolving door swept the grimy floor
Like a crinoline grotesque,
And a lowly *** from an ancient slum
Crept furtively past the desk.
His footsteps sift into the lift
As a knife in the sheath is slipped,
Stealthy and swift into the lift
As a vampire into a crypt.

Old Maxie, the elevator boy,
Was reading an ode by Shelley,
But he dropped the ode as it were a toad
When the gun jammed into his belly.
There came a whisper as soft as mud
In the bed of an old canal:
"Take me up to the suite of Pinball Pete,
The rat who betrayed my gal."

The lift doth rise with groans and sighs
Like a duchess for the waltz,
Then in middle shaft, like a duchess daft,
It changes its mind and halts.
The *** bites lip as the landlocked ship
Doth neither fall nor rise,
But Maxie the elevator boy
Regards him with burning eyes.
"First, to explore the thirteenth floor,"
Says Maxie, "would be wise."

Quoth the ***, "There is moss on your double cross,
I have been this way before,
I have cased the joint at every point,
And there is no thirteenth floor.
The architect he skipped direct
From twelve unto fourteen,
There is twelve below and fourteen above,
And nothing in between,
For the vermin who dwell in this hotel
Could never abide thirteen."

Said Max, "Thirteen, that floor obscene,
Is hidden from human sight;
But once a year it doth appear,
On this Walpurgis Night.
Ere you peril your soul in murderer's role,
Heed those who sinned of yore;
The path they trod led away from God,
And onto the thirteenth floor,
Where those they slew, a grisly crew,
Reproach them forevermore.

"We are higher than twelve and below fourteen,"
Said Maxie to the ***,
"And the sickening draft that taints the shaft
Is a whiff of kingdom come.
The sickening draft that taints the shaft
Blows through the devil's door!"
And he squashed the latch like a fungus patch,
And revealed the thirteenth floor.

It was cheap cigars like lurid scars
That glowed in the rancid gloom,
The murk was a-boil with fusel oil
And the reek of stale perfume.
And round and round there dragged and wound
A loathsome conga chain,
The square and the hep in slow lock step,
The slayer and the slain.
(For the souls of the victims ascend on high,
But their bodies below remain.)

The clean souls fly to their home in the sky,
But their bodies remain below
To pursue the Cain who each has slain
And harry him to and fro.
When life is extinct each corpse is linked
To its gibbering murderer,
As a chicken is bound with wire around
The neck of a killer cur.

Handcuffed to Hate come Doctor Waite
(He tastes the poison now),
And Ruth and Judd and a head of blood
With horns upon its brow.
Up sashays Nan with her feathery fan
From Floradora bright;
She never hung for Caesar Young
But she's dancing with him tonight.

Here's the bulging hip and the foam-flecked lip
Of the mad dog, Vincent Coll,
And over there that ill-met pair,
Becker and Rosenthal,
Here's Legs and Dutch and a dozen such
Of braggart bullies and brutes,
And each one bends 'neath the weight of friends
Who are wearing concrete suits.

Now the ****** make way for the double-******
Who emerge with shuffling pace
From the nightmare zone of persons unknown,
With neither name nor face.
And poor Dot King to one doth cling,
Joined in a ghastly jig,
While Elwell doth jape at a goblin shape
And tickle it with his wig.

See Rothstein pass like breath on a glass,
The original Black Sox kid;
He riffles the pack, riding piggyback
On the killer whose name he hid.
And smeared like brine on a slavering swine,
Starr Faithful, once so fair,
Drawn from the sea to her debauchee,
With the salt sand in her hair.

And still they come, and from the ***
The icy sweat doth spray;
His white lips scream as in a dream,
"For God's sake, let's away!
If ever I meet with Pinball Pete
I will not seek his gore,
Lest a treadmill grim I must trudge with him
On the hideous thirteenth floor."

"For you I rejoice," said Maxie's voice,
"And I bid you go in peace,
But I am late for a dancing date
That nevermore will cease.
So remember, friend, as your way you wend,
That it would have happened to you,
But I turned the heat on Pinball Pete;
You see - I had a daughter, too!"

The *** reached out and he tried to shout,
But the door in his face was slammed,
And silent as stone he rode down alone
From the floor of the double-******.
OH NINA Jun 2016
fingers trace
the trails on my skin
your hands used to make,
used to take

ghosts of touches
nostalgias of caresses
hands driven by despair
have endeavored to redress

a body,
self intrinsic body
yet every inch screams you
*made of nothing but all taints of you
i miss you
Andrew Rueter Feb 2018
My neck noosed
My legs loosed
I witness the tragic
It seems so emphatic
I feel entropy
Enter me
Around love and pain
I wear gloves of shame
Toxicity taints touch
My reaction is to cautiously recoil
For I feel a great punch
When I expect them to be loyal
A tear rolls down my cheek
Navigating scars
Like a man who is meek
Navigating bars
It starts and stops
Then keeps going
The tears drop
From what I'm knowing
That my time is evaporating
Dealing with the exasperating

I feel I can be caring
I just need the chance
We'll see how I'm fairing
On the end of your lance
Penetrating deeply
The pain is unceasing
Like a thousand bee stings
While you stand there feasting
Making me feel alive
From the pain inside

I guess things could always be worse
Sometimes that feels like a curse
Because I have problems all the same
But it's true
The sum of our troubles equal this game
That we lose
Even though I'd rather deal with *** and silence
Than to be vexed by violence
They're all just ways of imposing our will
Whether it's through who we birth or ****
Conflict is how we get our fill
Every day a different fire drill
We hate each other
We date each other
We underrate each other
To deflate each other
Pain is used as a tool
Until blood lays in a pool

These things that annoy us
Are met by avoidance
These things compound
Until I can't be unwound
I live in a world of contending intentions
It's a world of our own selfish invention
A world that burns bright
So I can't sleep
When day turns to night
I hear death creep
Seeking to take me from a life I never asked for
But I'm grateful to have
Life is about experimenting with opening doors
And I'm stuck in the lab
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
Pagan Paul Apr 2017
I'm glad I am a rough diamond,
not cut, and ready to buy.
Women don't want polished men,
they want a malleable guy.
I'm not the King of Diamonds,
not domesticated nor trained.
I'm not a gent, soft of touch.
I'm wild and lustful and stained.

So I am the Jack of Diamonds
strong and rugged and tough.
No culture taints my mind,
and knowledge is just - stuff.
When I find me a willing Lady,
she just can't get enough,
especially when I head for
her Diamond in the Rough.

© Pagan Paul (03/04/17)
Right now someone,somewhere in the world

is horrifically withdrawing from their poison,

in a jail for days ,

climbing the utter 4 walls of solitary confinement,

with no fresh air at all

just the stench of suffering,

haunting there broken spirits,

desperate to end it,

but that officer took their shoelaces out ,

and there's no possible way to do it.

Time is there worst nightmare here,

going nowhere ,

as they try to pretend to sleep forever,

and even attempting they know is not clever,

But it is all they've got

yearning to ignore the horror movie playing in there mind's eye,

infecting every fiber of there being rots,

diminishing the lie that it's ok

when they're certain that this must be hell!

in the belly of the beast,

being spiritually waylaid

feeling that they're cursed and the end is nigh,

absolutely terrified at the possibility

of there brutal existence

being any worse than it already is,

endlessly torchering them ,

over and over again, in detail,

reminding them of every single mistake

that they have ever made,

all the bad things they have ever done,

and how the good old days

can never come back again ,

but just as toxic painful memories;

so long,

forcing a futile desperate hope

for a time machine;

or if only they could just start again,

and this could all be

one big worst nightmare...

And yet it is so clear

that this is really real,

and this world is  unfair!

Somewhere someone is suffering with hunger

and a deep emptiness

Weakens them to there core.

Some fast for religious purposes,

but mostly it's the poor ignored,
I am grateful I'm not them right now ,

because I felt this pain before.

with a deep yearning,
Convinced I could bare no more,

Some say there peckish,
some say their famished,

most say there hungry for more

Most have forgotten there starving;

just like before

of love and spirituality,

it's not really for me to say,

who's more in need of being fed

and that ultimately

there almost ,nearly dead.

Right now someone ,suffering, somewhere

has got the worst toothache

they've ever had in there entire life!
with no painkillers to take this

deep ache away !

probing and throbbing throughout the day,

then slicing like a knife,

when there only relief

is to but rock in misery

cradling their jaw,

yearning to end their life!

I'm glad I'm not them right now !

because I; yes me! felt this pain before!...

and it's the kind of pain

that hurts from the surface to your core.

so when I'm moaning

about the pain

I think I feel I'm in,

I should just  refrain,

and stop compulsive complaints,

that toxic-ally taints,

like a self fulfilled prophecy,

if you doubt you go without

or  busy earning a bad name...

if you believe you receive

is a load of ****;


when a toothaches

and the pain gets a grip

a toothaches....

Someone, suffering,Somewhere ...

just now,.

has broken their ankle ,

for the first time in there lives,

and was prior unaware

of the existence and possibility

they could feel so alive

with such an incredibly excruciating pain,

and has just been plastered up

if there lucky enough,

and given crutches for mobility

and must learn to cope is the deepest liberty

with the new struggle of getting from A to B,

or just making a simple cup of tea!

and hopping up and down the stairs,

to take a wee

or in and Out of bed

and into the shower,

becomes the new major struggle of the hour,

and you see,

in fact becomes more painful than the original break itself ,

as it is slow and cumbersome,

and creeps like stealth,

I know;for this pain was cryptic and raw...

And is one of the worst things that has ever happened to me before!,

and at the same time one of the best!

though they say the wicked get no rest,

but sometimes it's just that life is a test,

hidden deep aching phantom pain!

for this was the only thing that has ever made me stop and remain!,

slowdown and see the wood from the trees,

be alive; and just breathe...

bearing in mind it could of always been worse!

and that relative suffering in silence

is a hidden human curse...

Someone suffering someplace; is cold to the bone;

and can't find no warmth or love and no home.

I would rather be homeless, than feel so alone.

The fear of the coldness is worse than the truth,

certainly hurts,

but to be frozen with fear is definitely worse ,

stuck in a place where you can't find the words

and should of ,could of, would.

I'm grateful I'm not them right now!

and hope they find some warmth soon!

Maybe light a fire!

lest it invoke the grim reaper...
I know this pain and there's nothing like it...

and yet still ;there's nothing more painful

than the road to your heart going cold and cursed

the longest journey is from our head to our heart,

warm things up

better get living and make a start...

Someone somewhere is desperately thirsty,

deeply dehydrated and hasn't had a drop of water in days ,

they would drink the water from a  police cell toilet,

if given the opportunity,

this is one of the worst pains I have ever felt...

and I'm glad it's not me right now!

because I've felt this hideous pain before,

looking back in hindsight, all of what I've presented

as one's brutal suffering ,can be just chances

for character building, for out of the darkness comes the light,

for where theres no pain theres no gain,

as one cannot exist without the other,

and one can't know  abundant Joy,

without having felt great suffering,

For as deep and as broad is our suffering. ..

so shall be our comfort...x

Tony Scallo Oct 2014
What is the word acknowledgement, to someone
Who never does anything about what they acknowledge?
What good is acknowledging a problem,
If you choose not to act upon it?

It's almost as if acknowledgement helps us believe
We are better people if we are aware of the bad within or around us
As if acknowledgement taints our minds
With a false sense of enlightenment
That being aware, is better than being there
To actually change what it is we acknowledge to be wrong

But if people only talked about their words, with no actions
We would only need to acknowledge, never having to change our ways
For acknowledgement can sometimes be, the golden word we need
That justifies an ignorance to our false sense of bliss
cr Sep 2014
it's a friday night and i am sat at the top of the bleachers with three packs of maltesers i told the cashier were for my friends with a blurry grin and the hot chocolate in my hands lied. it's lukewarm and tastes of milk, not sweets, and the taste of it still taints my lips because i'm forcing myself to drink it anyways. the stars are yellow set against navy hues and they're blinking down at me.

there's announcers shouting something about the game occurring on the field but i'm not listening, never listening, never apathetic or empathic enough to want to. the music blares, cheers roar, announcers boom, the scoreboard flashes-  it's cold enough to be huddled beneath blankets but i've only got a sweatshirt hiding my hands, hiding my fingers, hiding me. my ribs shiver and the ghosts in the spaces between them gather closer for a warmth that won't come. the moon says hello to me and i struggle to catch enough air to say it back.

my friends are nowhere to be found and i can't feel my fingertips and the flavor of lukewarm hot chocolate leaves me and i'm closing my eyes, shutting them tight, disconnecting.

there's suddenly no one here, just me and the blackness behind my eyelids. it's like i'm watching humans but never being one of them. maybe i'm meant to be an alien- maybe that one star blinking at me is a planet welcoming me home- maybe if i lay my lungs to rest they'll leave me be.

i can feel my heart giving up on me.
emptiness does things to me
Poetic T Jan 2015
I need to cleanse it, free myself
Of this burden  tainted upon
My being. Cinders are drenched on
That which writhes is not burnt away,
So I must eradicate its stench
It violates upon my being
I unburden the pressures so released,
Pyroclastic flows breath exfoliation on my
Of that stench scorched into oblivion
I relish in the torment of those below
Freshly parched earth as lungs burn breath,
"Fallen misery descends in singed flesh"
I release the Feathers weighted down
Haemorrhaging as crimson flows to the
Stems,  expanding into the beauty
Of death, I am
Upon the fallen as I step upon ash
"Bones, death, rebirth"
As no longer afflicted,
I am once again blanched as purest darkness
Is Neither black or grey
"But lucid white"
"As purity is only clean"
"I am purity of darkness"
And the taints of humanity are flakes upon
Silent statues upon the ground, I am **malevolent incarnate..
Tammy M Darby Feb 2017
Rest your weary body
Drink from my golden goblet
The most delicate and finest of wines
A potion of wild raspberries, bitterness and jeering contempt
Assault the light that dare not shine

It is the elixir of a dispassionate heart
If you possess no fear
Taste the confectionery of sadness call
Where love frightened evades approach
Upon remembrance of the long dark fall

Sip from the golden goblet
Taste the cruel sweetness of pain
Damnation to those who denounce the motive behind the actions
Until the bed of anguish you have lain

But these rare wines have no equal in quality
Defiled by evil and cursed with shame
The unquenchable thirst for blood taints the golden rim
As the murderous night slew the rising of the day

So lift high the golden goblet and drink  
An immortal taste of time
Accompany me into the world of melancholy
Where is served the most of exquisite wines
Come close now the hour when words become whispers
Demanding recompense for the crimes.

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Feb. 8. 2017
Written for the Monster
Simran Jun 2014
Every hour
Every movement
Every step I take

This direction of life

It controls me
Taints my mind

I'm too confused
Too focused on then
Not ever now

About a time untold
What is yet to come

Too worried
About an uncertainty

It passes me
But I don't look

Too focused
I've become blind to life
Jodie LindaMae Sep 2014
Everything around me
Keeps me coming back to you.
I'm a lost puppy
Wandering in the woods
And I'm a hopeless case
When you're not around.
And I can't tell if this is admirable
Or sick but I'm only happy by your side.
The anxiety boils in my veins
And taints my mind
When you're so far away.
I fear for your safety daily
Because of past violences
And pill poppers
And self destroyers;
You're the only sane person I know in this world.
My guardian angel,
My one and only
Savior and protector.

I pretend to be a hardass by cutting my hair short
And smoking a cigarette a second
But it's only becaue Bruce Willis was safe
Climbing vents is Die Hard
So long as he had a gun in one hand
And an import smoke
Twisted in the knuckle of the other.
I am a lost transmission
And all of these words
Are just different combinations of twenty six letters
That could never encompass all you mean to me.

I am not a hardass,
I'm a pop princess
Longing for a God
But I am too intelligent to believe in one.

When did it become the norm for teens
To turn into Holden Caulfields
And when did I realize at first
That I see things other don't
And often suffer because of it?
It's like when I walked out of that theatre tonight
I was reminded what real life was
And promptly found myself again at the hand of anxiety.

I am not a monster
But this is a rant
Because I can't go a day
Without wondering why I'm still here.
With me
It is no depressive item,
I am only wanderlost.
How do people live past 25
When the world I live in is demented
And scary
And I am so, so

I breathe.
I am released.
But the air I fill my lungs with is heavy like lead
And I can only picture myself
Sinking to the bottom of the lake
Because my boots are too heavy
And I have decided to dive in headfirst.

I am a fool.
I am a disgusting imagined facet
And I am lost.
I am not thinking rationally tonight
And for that I thank only God Himself
Because I know He's ******* me up for a reason
But that reason might as well be for naught.

For I am no saint,
But a sinner.
Yes, I give little girls faith in themselves
By explaining to them that just because
They are ten years old
That does not mean they are not kick *** people
Because MegaMan was ten
When he was trying to ignore
****** puns from Cutman
And the same idiosyncrasies
And the same existentialist suicidal ideals
I try to ignore today.

I told my father today
That I wish I would have tried ditching school
Because then I would have felt as though I had
Even the smallest bit of control over my fate.
But I am so, so

I know the school
And everyone in it
Would not have noticed me go.

I know the world
And everyone in it
Would not notice me if I were to go.
Missing in Action.
It’s a term used in wars by officers who don’t want to face the fact you may be dead.
Not just lying in a trench, or bleeding out in a compound, or your brain splattered across the pavement kind of dead.
The kind of missing that makes family and friends cringe fear.
You could be standing in front of the person you once loved, a smile on their face carved there by your gentle hands and kisses and you could be Missing in Action.
Your smiles gone, memories sporadic and missing, You can’t remember a single word of those long walks along the beach, a warm hand holding yours
The kind of Missing in Action in which those closest to you have you sit and talk for an hour.
Each meeting the same, each question of progress answered with the same phrase “I’m working on it”.
They think that’s a good sign, that you really are working on it, that you have a passion in your heart and all you want is to fuel it.
Give it flame and life, feed it till it overtakes your body, mind and soul, let it show the people who once loved you that you’re okay.
But you can’t.
There’s no flame in your heart, no passion, no driving force keeping you alive till the next day.
You’re not Missing in Action, your reason to live is Missing in Action.
You can’t wake up in the morning and drag yourself out of bed, you can only walk as if a ghost guides your feet.
Sometimes you have to hold your breath because everything around you has that sweet flavor of life, a bitter taste that now bleeds failure.
They tell you it’ll be okay, and you want to believe them.
You want to believe them more than the stories your parents told you before you were tucked into bed.
You beg and plead on your knees to the god you stopped believing in, but that’s all you’ve ever done.
Prayed for anything to make this better, and the only thing that you’ve been gifted with is a bottleful of pills and barrel of a gun that’s so cold it burns.
Hold those in your hands, feel the weight they give. It weighs more to you than the amount of your life.
If you’re lucky you can let them go, but it doesn’t mean your problems are magically solved like your fairy godmother who gives you that dress to send you to the ball, all memories of dirt gone off your skin.
No, you’re still going to remember the words, the actions, the hatred that pushed you that far.
You can’t help it!
You’ve always been like this, slowly losing a battle you’re told you can win.
Why should anyone be surprised you’re Missing in Action?
They’ve stood there and watched as you’ve fallen apart, but instead they turn it into a circus side show so they don’t feel the guilt that taints their skin as they pull your fragile strings, unraveling you like that one doll you always kept, so old that it can’t survive another trip in the washer so it looks brand new.
Missing in Action.
Missing in Action.
Missing in Action!
You’ve been Missing in Action for years.
Your family can’t look you in the eye, that mother who held you so dear can even set her hand upon your shoulder and tell you “Everything’s going to be alright sweetheart”.
So I tell myself, drop the gun, let it slip from my fingers and let the warmth replace the biting cold that swallowed me whole.
Family and friends may never be there for me, I’m Missing in Action, so what should I expect?
Mary Catherine Mar 2011
Excuse me Miss, the test results are back.
We’ve spoken to your family, and we are
Sad to say that you are numb.
You will start your treatment tomorrow.




I’ve been numb for some weeks now

It started at my toes

It nibbled on my legs

It flirted with my head

Slowly but surely tiptoeing in

Numbness is a silent killer

It plays nice and deceives you

Creeping through my body

Then it took my heart

For numbness is a backstabber

It is not what it seems

It uses other emotions to find you

It is covered by fear, for they are good friends

It hides under sadness’s billowing cloak.

And it is smuggled through the heart’s border by anger

But now it’s in my heart

For the soldiers have come out of the Trojan horse

They pillage and take

For numbness is greedy

They start at interests and the hobbies

It makes them seem boring and not worth while

See numbness is tactful, precise, and deadly

It plays with your mind, and slowly eats away at your heart

Hallowing it out, emptying you

Numbness is always hungry

And now I don’t know what I have left that it could take.

Do not worry, for this illness you have, this plague, it is not deadly

And while the treatment we have prepared for you will not change you back

Because once numbness steals, It does not give back easily

It taints your mind, and like wine on a white tablecloth

It does not fade easily

Numbness scars the mind

It leaves its signature with a heart

You will not be who you used to be

You will be faded version of yourself

And a talkative young girl like your self should not be worried

For those who come into our hospital as vibrant and colorful as you

Don’t fade as much as the quieter ones

See you were stronger than them

Your mind did not give up as easily as theirs

But we are treating you early

And you will be fixed, not to worry

Our results of this treatment are stellar

See you will not be fully put back together

Just a little shattered

Not as broken
Thy summer voice, Musketaquit,
Repeats the music of the rain;
But sweeter rivers pulsing flit
Through thee, as thou through the Concord Plain.
Thou in thy narrow banks art pent:
The stream I love unbounded goes
Through flood and sea and firmament;
Through light, through life, it forward flows.

I see the inundation sweet,
I hear the spending of the steam
Through years, through men, through Nature fleet,
Through love and thought, through power and dream.

Musketaquit, a goblin strong,
Of shard and flint makes jewels gay;
They lose their grief who hear his song,
And where he winds is the day of day.

So forth and brighter fares my stream,--
Who drink it shall not thirst again;
No darkness taints its equal gleam,
And ages drop in it like rain.
Shlomo Jan 2019
And…it’s here. A future. Agile? I was not enough to be.

Black in it’s entirety. A new beginning and a new ending.

Clockwork. As though a plan hatched by some supreme being.

Dear dog, which came first? Was it the white or the black?

Either way, it effortlessly taints your profoundly glorious genes.

**** this! Atrocious. Drugs?!

Goodness me. How did we get to this?

Horrible, dehumanising, and it’s here to stay.

“Suppresses”. But really only in the mildest of ways.

As if to constantly remind you of the control you once had.

Now ceded in it’s entirety to a tad bit of fad.
The skies cloud over,
the smell of thunder taints the air,
and the rain begins to fall
from my eyes.

There's a book of poetry
in the lines of my hands,
that no one wants to read.

I've lived my life,
rooted in her darkness,
arms catatonic as a tree.

Unable to run or cry,
when her other prunes my flowers.
MereCat Feb 2015
In the barren bowl
Of the local park
There is more brown
Than green
And naked trees
Rest like tired moths
Upon grass
That has been lacerated
By studded shoes
And knees and toes
And elbows
That have ploughed it
The edges of the path
Look like eyebrows
Poorly plucked
And rats-tail
Scatter and shred
Across the carpet
Jarring teenage love
Sit upon February
The fourteenth
Like it is a mantelpiece of
Tip blue hair to grey sky
Beiged fingers
Black fingernails
They watch their childhood haunts
Through the frosted panes
Of spectacle windows
And wonder why
Nostalgia dies so bitter
Kiss my empty skin

I find myself a love affair
In the sky
Clouds form a coastline
A single dribble of peach
Taints the ash
Like careless words
And I tilt my chin towards it
Already the spindle of my mind
And begins to weave
Gold from straw.
I haven't written poetry for a while...
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final end of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as ******* to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.
They have become defiled
They have defiled the land

"It's so unfair," she said. "Is this a loving God
Who sanctions genocide?
Who commands His people to slay man, woman and child?
A nation condemned, not the first
An entire planet submerged
Heaven snatched away for disobedience
No, I will not tolerate such a Deity."

In dark caves the Canaanite altars drip with the blood of children
The stench of feces and foul ***** taints the air
Yellow pools glisten in torch light
**** drips from the walls, piles up in mounds scattered on the floor
Animals mill about, sniffing the carcasses of other beasts
Each one kept for a purpose, dead and alive
No golden calves here, only warm flesh unyielding
Worthless for breeding, unneeded
For the Canaanites feed on the carrion of their own battlefields
The meat of their own brothers
Sisters, Fathers, Mothers
The feast devoured, bellies full, sated
The leftovers packed in salt for another day

Night falls, soon the stone that seals the altar tomb
Will be rolled away
The strongest of the peoples will enter the huge cavern
To claim their rightful reward
Until then...

The sounds of grunting women and children
None resisting, none even caring
Most feel nothing
The women should be crying, the children screaming
Only the infants' wails stand out against the cacophony
The noise of mindless rutting, the tears drawn by innocence crushed
Man and woman so desensitized
They barely feel anything anymore
But they remember the sensation
They strive to get it back
The Canaanites have become too ignorant to realize
They never will
So they've turned it into a God
Given it life, passed it on, infecting their enemies
Every bit as lethal as the diseases they've unwittingly cultivated
Passed on to open hearts and open minds
And to their infants and children
A malaise that blossoms into deformity, leprosy or worse

On a dais in the center of the cave
Are seven corpses
The Strong Men know them well

A Canaanite woman squats in a field on the edge of the village
She heaves and groans, face red from effort
With a final push she feels relief
The tiny thud of a newborn hitting the ground distracts her
To her it is nothing more than another form of defecation
She wraps the umbilical cord around her right hand
With her left she grasps the slimy casing
With a quick, purposeful **** she tears it in two
Rips, wanting nothing more to do with the burden she's carried for nine months
A final glance at the condemned child
The sand around it's body blotted with blood and issue
It's airless plea unheeded
She turns and walks away, apathetic
She's done this before
Many, many times before

The cave echoes with an ungodly sound
The Strong Men harness the beasts
The noise is maddening
The Strong Men dominate
Their laughter is insane
The creatures, they believe, are their prize
After all, they are the Strong Men
They are the leaders of the land

Friendship is dead
Compassion is dead
Fear is dead
Hope is dead
Desire is dead
Reason is dead
Logic is dead
Understanding is dead
Joy is dead
Peace is dead
Patience is dead
Kindness is dead
Self-control is dead
Faithfulness is dead
Gentleness is dead
Goodness is dead
Love is dead
Dead as the corpses on the altar
Dumb as the animals in the cages
If those creatures were sentient beings
They would beg for the slaughter
If the Canaanites had not so long been numb
They would pray for the same

The Strong Men
Are ready
For the


A loving God puts a crippled horse out of it's misery
A loving God buries it deep underground

A loving God does not condemn without reason
Without good reason

A loving God does not sanction genocide
But He will clear a field full of rabid skunks
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
Dawn of Lighten Dec 2014
Shadowy showdown,
So slithery, slippery, snake stand.

Eyes yield eight years of restlessness,
While baggy eyes droop like mind stuck in senselessness.

Truly traumatic tales told tons of taints,
and trucking thoroughly through the thorns turn to turn.

Thus the mind shall riddle more maze like a mused upon mused,
for nothing shall keep a mind stagnant but the thoughts unamused.

Proclaim profound process profusely,
While prance protruding proponent proud processes.

Stand straight, so sight searing senses sought,
And stir strength seeping souls.

For truest of devotion must be expressed from the inner self,
even if slithery, slippery, snake, stand for a showdown!
I remember in an elementary class, one of the class assignment was creating a sentence using only the same letters per sentences! Thought I'll try to be creative, and express the thought lingering a ghastly shadow.
pluie d'été Jan 2014
he woke up beside the girl
with the universe
in her sad eyes

running his fingers
through her tumbled hair
watching stillness
and memories of the future
flicker across her invisible mind

he traces the fragility
of her ribs
feels something
underneath her skin

where is your heart
he whispers
so softly
and she hears his voice
succumbing to her dreams and nightmares
void of longing
taints the sky

cracking and heavy
her walls want to fall
she keeps herself
to the stars
in the night
and feels him move away from her
pulling her closer
Maman Screams Apr 2014
If only life could be certain
With a drop of a poet's ink
A freedom of speech taints
As the piling papers sink
Nothing was written
No eyewitness sinned  
Seeing is believing
And so they preach
Puzzles made seems so easy
A minor once plea
How could they be so foolish
When they're set out to deal
With a thousand and one possibility
To this puzzle
That I'm currently in

@2014 Maman Screams
Dark branches dance against an aluminium sky
as dusk taints the edges with blue.
The last crow warns of death as it passes,
it's cry echoing along the shoeless streets
and down to the brook where once laughter played.
Storm clouds gather in furious array
shaking thunderous fists at the earth below,
their forked tongues tearing the atmosphere
as the first droplets spew forth from their ragged mouths.
A name. A name as it just is, but one t'at is so dear
to my heart-th' glint of my dreams,
th' tempest of my soul. Th' wave of my life,
th' tide of my *****-and how bound to my heart-as t'ey art!
Th' glide of my tempest, th' water of my drought-in t'at
simpering stain of th' past-thou wert but my sole emblem
of imagination. Thou wert th' only thunder to my heart-
and my benign indulgence-thy words wert to me my kingdom,
my most earnestly desired kingdom! Thou wert but to me so near-in t'at
affronted fright of my being, thou wert my enigmatic master
and ardour. How thou comforted me!
And how thy charm was but so near!
My prince, my love!
I was but in a striving trance-but as soon as thou reached my handth-
and pressed me so tenderly to thy chest-o!
How I was entangled in a haven of imminent soliloquy.
And my eyes-my very eyes, watched t'ose shadows of bubbles-
and t'at splash of foreign doubts, drift, drift away-like a busy wind,
trying to escape its shrieking rims: how t'ose fears and drears
astoundeth me no more!
And thee,
How replenishing, andth becoming thou art to me!
Vanquished areth now t'ose thoughts unsure-in thee I witnesseth nothing
but pleasure! Thee-thou art, and just thou art, is my warmth and
fiery treasure-just thee, my love. Thou art th' blood t'at feeds my veins!
How thy first words art but fresh in my memory-thou blesth my morning,
and its sublime meekness, but its kisses art as fervent as thine not-and would I
still be gripped by its dangling, mystical fear.
And t'ose rainbows of falsehood, how t'ey snickered-hark to t'eir deceit,
and flakes of malice-hark now! I was so entranced by t'eir speeches, and
blinding emotions, so captivating in t'ose years of insincere heat, but no more!
No more shalt I give my life to 'em-to endue 'em with my glows of aspiration
as heretofore. I would be clever t'is time-and fleet as I like th' pouring rain-
beware ought 'ey to become, of my festive storm!
But thou-as majestic as th' morn's melodious dew-caught my love in a burst
of eloquent second, and lock it in thy memories, heart, and salubrious
weather. How thou gleamed my life-my very life!
T'is life t'at was isolated by flushes of unripe redness-
unlike t'ose taints of glamorous roses-fake, indolent shapes as t'ey are,
scattered along t'ose innocent bushes, and am but afraid t'ey shalt
survive not-and wither shalt t'eir robust leaves, from t'at ample
sadness bestowed guiltlessly on 'em. How t'eir glistening surfaces
shalt be left no more!
Thou art my only jewelry-and th' atonement of my surly sins-
knight to my armour-my warm, neglected armour, how soft and epic
thou art! And thou wilt be by my side-as fatefully'th it been decided,
and how miraculous it wouldth be to me-my very prince, my own,
my own thee! And shall beginth just t'is journey-our very, very journey,
with no more blandnessth as heretofore-in t'is gusty time of year,
as I wouldth but be here with my thee-my dear, my dear.
George Krokos Oct 2014
General Note:
This is an autobiographical poem, given here in seven parts for reading convenience, which mentions some personal events of my life and the names of a few spiritual masters that I have read and studied a good deal about, the main ones being Paramahansa Yogananda and Meher Baba; the latter I have also written about in two other poems titled: #1 “The Highest Of The High” and #2 “The Universal Divine Plan” which are also posted on this website.*

Part 1
Even as a little child I do now recall
You often would respond to my call.
And whenever I was filled with sorrow
about certain things feared of tomorrow
You would comfort me in some natural way
assuring me there wouldn't be such a day
and then my heart would experience much joy
almost just like acquiring a long expected toy.

Together we would have laughter and fun
like a couple of children playing in the sun.
Though You did reproach me when I was bad
then lovingly forgive me when I'd be so sad.
You would always try and point out to me
the good things around there were to see.

You always were the one I called on when in need
beseeching You as no one else believed me indeed.
You were more or less my constant companion and friend
and together would see things through until the very end.
Now and then I would go my separate way and depart
but sooner or later I would remember You in my heart.
It seemed somehow, You had a permanent place in there
as if it would be impossible to leave it empty and bare.

Part 2
The days did pass by and as I was growing up with age
You would sometimes come and offer advice like a sage
especially when found out doing naughty things some days
by my elders, at the time, being not agreeable to their ways.
They would, by inflicting pain, try and get the message across to me
that what I'd been doing was particularly not very pleasing to see.
Those were the times when I would hide and cry my heart out,
wailing with remorse and anguish I would doubt You were about.
Blaming You for my misfortunes I would try and close the door
not accepting Your existence and then declaring a private war.
When all would become quiet and my mind's rage did subside
You would try and reason with me to put all my weapons aside.

Often were the times when I would listen rapt with awe,
to words of wisdom coming from deep in my heart's core.
Little did I know, at the time, that they would prove to be true,
as only to realise, much later in life, that they came from You.
Yet then, many a time, I had the temerity to pass You by
and meeting with troubles and difficulties wondered why.
The hardships I encountered seemed only to confirm in my mind
that You were a figment of my imagination better left far behind.

My alienation from You increased to such an extent,
as I grew up, becoming a storehouse of ill-content.
Associating with those very much in the same boat,
I began to drift and sink in life's tide rather than float.
Such was my plight, I realised, turning my back on You
ignorantly, yet willingly, tangling with a desparate crew.
That worldly ocean contains very many surprises in store,
for the unwary traveller, going away from the home shore.
By living an unnatural existence in a stormed-tossed sea
it's everyone for themselves disregarding their humanity.
But there were the moments when You would shine through
via members of my family and others advice on behalf of You.
Little did I heed though, what they would concernedly tell,
as I plunged headlong into a self-created, God forsaken hell.

Part 3
It was only through repeated experiences, I would learn
that, where I was heading, would surely make me burn.
Tempted with fancy indulgences my mind would lead me astray
and going from one extreme to the other in weakness I would stay.
Involved with those called 'friends' who really didn't know any better,
being like the blind following the blind, with many an unseen fetter.
It was living a life of sense pleasures; mainly that of wine, women and song,
which seemed to be what everyone else was doing, as each day came along.
Now and then I would stop to reflect on the state I found myself in
but, though I tried, didn't have the determination to leave and begin
a new life which would bring out and develop my real self
instead I wallowed in the mire of this worldly life like an elf.

Then the seemingly unexpected happened, while reeking with taints
I stumbled onto some wisdom through the words of one of Thy Saints.
Paramahansa Yogananda was one of Thy true and recent devotees;
mystic, philosopher, poet and saint, through Yoga he was all of these.
The story he told of life, in a far distant land, awakened my sleeping soul,
overwhelmed my mind with inspiration and taught that You were the goal.

He made the words of the New Testament come alive for me,
with patience and love, showing how real they could easily be.
Without any coercion he helped me realise the truth they contained
for many years escaping my attention though now readily attained.
By dispelling my ignorance he was leading me gently back to You
with Divine knowledge and practical wisdom, I did follow him too.
He helped to turn my gaze inside so that I may see the Inner Light
and by acting on his advice was able to behold that blessed sight.
Transforming my existence, he told me that which I hungered for,
ignorantly looking in the wrong direction not knowing any more.
I began to know the meaning of discipline, in a persons' life by which
any individual could rise from the bottom of existence and so reach
that state of consciousness from where all problems were resolved
through perseverance and grace did get myself seriously involved.

Part 4
He opened up a whole new world of possibilities and life to see,
while reading and comprehending his words power flowed in me.
Then one day at work almost at the turn of a new year,
I heard someone mention a name they held quite dear.
It must of remained in my head like a dormant and potent seed,
because it was associated with a person of a very high breed.
As it turned out an incident happened, involving someone dear in my life,
which I recognized to be more than a chance to end some personal strife.
So, early in the new year, I became determined to give it a go,
that is, live up to my highest aspirations, forsaking much woe.
In order to remove the distance between myself and that which I aspired to
many things were done, impossible it seemed, while keeping my mind on You.

With the knowledge and courage garnered by Yoganandaji's grace
I began to come closer to You at quite a remarkably steady pace.
A lot of things were given up, mainly those holding me heavily down,
and other things were taken up, suggested by Your chosens' renown.
Purification of body and mind was the main way to achieve that end,
sublimation of all actions, inner motives, Your Will I could not offend.
You had to become my One and Only, all else I had to give away,
all that I thought was mine belonged to You, having the final say.
You were everywhere, in everything and also in everyone,
I sought to please You only, like Your Own Begotten Son.
This was more easily said than done as I soon began to see,
that I virtually had to cease to exist and live totally in thee.
How I were to do this was beyond my situation at the time
though I tried with a little success in that favorable clime.

Part 5
Then I remembered that name mentioned just a short while ago
and thus made some effort to find out more as I needed to know.
I came across and even bought a few books relating to that name,
thus began another chapter in my life which wasn't quite the same.
What I began to read was the culmination of all that had come before
and by maintaining a steady discipline realized incredibly much more.
My expectations and joy increased so much so in what I had found
all else meant nothing to me, it seemed, coming across Holy ground.
The words I read were so beautiful, loving, very profound and true
I was dumbfounded to realize they were coming directly from You.

The books I read were by and about a person called Meher Baba
whose name in English was translated as 'Compassionate Father'.
In actual fact He never wrote those books at all as such
but dictated the words on an alphabet board in his clutch.
He would spell every word out to one of His close ones patiently,
by pointing to each letter in the words, moving His finger quickly.
His close one would then record what was 'said' each time by Him
for the benefit of those who would come later, such was His Whim.

He did not write or speak during the greater part of His life,
communicating with silent gestures, not even having a wife.
The words that He 'spoke' were of the highest wisdom and Love,
bringing down Divine Truth, with which to awaken us, from above.
He confirmed and corrected what all the others said about You,
knowing more than the others did, but also respecting their view.
His was the highest philosophy that's ever been described by hand,
by anyone before or since, in this world, anywhere inscribed on land.
He was The One I was always looking for everywhere to find
You were really Him being the latest Unique One of The Kind.
He was also from the same league as Zoroaster, Rama, Krishna, Buddha,
Jesus and Muhammad, but appearing this time around called Meher Baba.

Part 6
You, Him and all the Others were the same One, it was emphasized,
but each time You'd come down were so very differently disguised.
Each time You would come heralding a New Age and New Humanity,
which was what some of Your Saints were preparing mankind to see.
By discipline, meditation, study, prayer, purification of body and mind,
one could devote them self to You in daily life, so not to be left behind
in the coming New World Order which shall abate the rushing tide
of ignorance and selfishness, being a part of mankind's lower side.

We have all seen and should know how bad its really been lately,
with all the wars and power struggles that have passed belatedly;
causing so much destruction, pain, loss of life and property
Your words would ring through my brain jolting my memory:
You said 'such are the pangs and symptoms of spiritual rebirth'
and that all would be affected by Your presence on this earth.
Which is due to mankind's forgetfulness, of its divine origin, and is instead
all engaged in asserting short lasting and false values lodged in its head.
These are based on illusion which is the reason we are grossly misled
being the cause of much evil, having ignored what You previously said.
It's only by living a divine life while here on this earth that we can all
fulfill life's purpose thus being not required to come back any more.

You compassionately stated the importance of following a Perfect Master (See Note #1)
by surrendering and obedience to Him/Her anyone could get there much faster.
He/She was someone who had already achieved life's purpose and Divine goal
and was the very embodiment and shining example of man's Highest Soul.
Only by becoming as dust at the feet of such a living true saint,
seekers could gain His/Her grace and so attain a life free of taint.

Part 7
Your advent here amongst us was like the 'spring tide of creation',
when everyone gets a gentle 'push forward' to a higher life station.
The work You did while here was often very intense and exhaustive
so much so that many times You remained very aloof and seclusive.
Undergoing a great deal of suffering while working within the inner planes
uplifting mankind's consciousness by removing the vitiating mental stains,
that have accumulated over all the years to such an enormous extent
obscuring the Light of Love and Truth revealed by Your last advent.

The words You gave came from the Source of Truth and have real meaning
and those who are ready to receive them there's a rich harvest for gleaning.
Though You did say that You 'have come not to teach but to awaken'
and it was because of Love, in this present form, Your Spirit had taken.
You showered on those who came before You of Your Love, peace and charity
not forgetting the good humor and Divine Knowledge imparted out of necessity.
Continually exhorting Your dear ones that by remembering and loving You all would be well
because You were the God man (See Note #2) Who was the slave of Your lovers; by Grace one could tell.
You did mention many times that You were not limited by this apparent human ****** form
and that You used it only to manifest Thy compassion being more accessible than the norm.
Coming down to be amongst us on our level so that we could catch a glimpse of You as before
appeasing our spiritual hunger; by sight, touch, words and deeds, thus confirm our faith for sure.

Note #1
A Perfect Master or Sadguru (Satguru) can be either male or female and is on the 7th Plane of Consciousness (Involution).and has achieved full Self-Realization and is one with God. Also called a Man or Woman God. He or She live the life of God in the world and wield infinite power, knowledge and bliss. A person who comes into contact with a Perfect Master is helped to progress on the spiritual path.
See also ‘Discourses‘ and ‘God Speaks’ by Meher Baba

Note #2
Also known as or called an Avatar – a direct and full Incarnation of God in human form. The Avatar appears on earth (is brought down) every once in a while - from between 600 to 700 years or 700 to 1400 years - when there is a great upheaval or turmoil in the world. The 20th Century was marked by two World Wars and the threat of Nuclear Destruction.
See also ‘Discourses ‘ and ‘God Speaks’ by Meher Baba.
Emily Oquendo Oct 2014
This little nightmare comes and goes
Its dark and tainted when it comes it grows
it taints all my dreams it crucifies my night
its hauntingly fast, I'm losing this fight

this creature of dark this son of night
fleeing again at the first sight of dawns light
It holds my terrors and haunts my dreams
But the demons it carries are demons from me
Priyanshi Dass Jul 2014
I wasn’t born to write
With every bent petal,
and every fallen leaf,
my ma’s sweet kisses
And papa’s gentle smile
I learned to write

A five year old me was once fascinated
by the loop of an ‘e’
and the playful swing of an ‘m’,
The wide smile of a ‘d’ delighted me
Words were powerful and mesmerising,
now they lie discarded and ignored
in broken stanzas of self proclaimed irrelevance

I watch the black ugly marks
That taints countless sheets of paper
They surround me in a sea of ink
That once flowed carefully and slowly
A thousand thoughts with each single word
Drained lies my mind, my breath’s not a whisper but a plea
My heart pumps blood not ink, I’m not a poet, it says
Incoherent scribblings mock me with their existence

As a child, confined spaces scared me
But now, a confined mind petrifies me with just a glimpse
A pen stays gripped in my hand
I wonder what it fears more
My inability to let the ink flow coherently
Or my arrogant ramblings, regardless
And fearless of consequences
While I stumble on disjointed verses

A paper aeroplane is my best accomplishment
In my two hour search for freedom and thought
Who cares for pretty words and mystifying couplets?
When the idea of a paper boat seems much more exciting

-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്‌
Written on 19 June 2014
PrttyBrd Mar 2014
Draining Hell-fire through fingertips. Fully immersed in emotion, not just the memory.  Reliving the feeling of tortured souls while bleeding ink into words.  Slinking from an ashen past into a jet black future. The present lost, forgotten, left behind in transition from shadow to darkness. Shattered souls resuscitated and shared for the mere pleasure of others.  there is no time to wallow, no self pity. That is not found in this place, burned off as sulfur in the brewing of a demon.  

She comes alive
Through yesterday's ashes
Succubus divine

Such a pretty little package. Sugar and spice and everything that isn't meant for human consumption.  Poison mind seething, searching for the vulnerable, the gullible, the innocent, and the sweetly vile.  Spewing forth honesty in liquid courage.  No need to lie when eyes believe what they see.  Beauty in the moonlight, sweetness in a smile, desire in a twinkle of Hell in the eye.  Oh, that bit of Hell is a lot to chew.  Take a bite and choke.  Lost forever are pieces of you, your heart, your soul feeds her beautiful demons.  Her flawless imperfections beguile and betray the mind, as those demons consume her divinely

Entranced by beauty
He stalks his prey in music
She absorbs his soul

Honeysuckle perfume taints the air.  And the honey will never again taste as sweet. Swimming mind lost in those ruby lips and laughter like cracking glass heard as tinkling bells.  Ensnared in the thorns that hook the flesh by surprise. The warmth of the fire masks the sting. All part of the dance.  Writhing, hypnotic friction disguised as emotion, disguised as desire, disguised as love.  Motion so fluid whispers depravity behind the eyes of an angel.  There is nothing else.  She gets what she wants. You believe you have her right where you want her, but it is she who has lead the way from the first whiff of the stench of you as you entered the room.

He believes he won her
She devours his essence
vanishing at once

As she is craved, she burns your soul.  This demon who drains Hell-fire into words.

Of Bronze—and Blaze—
The North—Tonight—
So adequate—it forms—
So preconcerted with itself—
So distant—to alarms—
And Unconcern so sovereign
To Universe, or me—
Infects my simple spirit
With Taints of Majesty—
Till I take vaster attitudes—
And strut upon my stem—
Disdaining Men, and Oxygen,
For Arrogance of them—

My Splendors, are Menagerie—
But their Completeless Show
Will entertain the Centuries
When I, am long ago,
An Island in dishonored Grass—
Whom none but Beetles—know.
Sia Jane Nov 2014
I am not yet defiled; O hear me.
Let not the crazed hornets or serpents or ophidian or the
   buzzard bee come near me.

I am not yet defiled; console me.
I fear that the snake charmer may with rhythmic body clocks clock me,
   with predatory hissing paralyze me, with authoritative power anger me,
      on wicker constraints constrain me, in bamboo-patches pierce me.

I am not yet defiled; provide me
With beauty to free me, dressage to cover me, silence to come
   to me, souls to save me, charmers and angels
     in my wandering existence seeking fights to waver the war within me.

I am not yet defiled; forgive me
For the provocative glances in me, my presence when womanity holds me,
   my mythological beauty by deities beyond me,
      my head held high when they slay by means of my
         crossbow, my addiction when they poison me.

I am not yet defiled; rehearse me
In the dreams and the prayers I must take when
   art interrupts me, material disturbs me, splintered souls
     gaze at me, smiles fade at me, the knifes edge
       stains me and everlasting scars pain
         me to shame and the shames taints
           my skin and my heart abandons me.

I am not yet defiled; O hear me,
Let not Perseus who is warrior or who thinks he is King
     or a rival to me.

I am not yet defiled; O fill me
With gasoline against those who would inhabit my
  bones, would sink me into empty caverns,
    would make me a prisoner locked, a monster with
      blood dripping, a monster, and a passer of dis-ease
        who would execute my self, would
          flush me like ***** oozing and
            ***** and ooze and *****
              like alcohol seeping in the
                pores would drown me.

Let Poseidan not make me defiled and let him not **** me.
Otherwise **** me.

© Sia Jane
I cannot lay claims for all this poem. I did spend many hours last night, taking a Louis MacNeice poem, called "Prayer before Birth", and adapting it to the story of Medussa. This is the outcome.
Brian Ray Oct 2010
Smiles are fading like
A fire once watched.
And The room dies,
As detail becomes a lie.
A *****'s fragrance lingers,
But it's the dust that makes it hard to breathe.
Breathe is what she said to do,
But he could naught but smile.

You said you'd always be there,
You dared to call me yours.
You dared to hold me in your arms,
And now blood taints the floors.

Heads are dangling over
The railings emotionless and pale.
Pigments have shattered,
Leaving painted glass on the floor.
Shades of gray haunt the realm,
Establishing a harmonic depression.
Asmodeus left his mark,
And he has yet to return.

You had me hanging on a cliff,
All you had to do was pull.
Instead you pushed away,
Leaving me to fall like everyone else.

It stains the room.
But she makes her way,
She'll cross as she pleases.
Even the blood on the corner
Of their lips remain still.
But the girl in the red dress,
She walks the floor.
She grabs the rope.
She kicks the chair.

You lived the life no one wants.
You played us like a deck of cards.
But its your swinging corpse
That brought this room back to life.


If­ you cant handle love,
And you cant handle life,
How the **** could you handle ****?
Sept 20, 2010
Maman Screams Feb 2014
Broken glasses beneath my roots
Scattered memories of a girl I knew
Penetrating fragments through my open wounds
Would it be simpler to be abuse
Leaving taints as the march's wind blew
Opening circles of rendezvous
Dreams may now seems like a dejavu
Was it really you the girl I knew
Now just became part of the muse
The girl I once knew

©2014 Maman Screams

— The End —