"tanked" poems
You bought the house with lavender
seeded in the front porch.
The scent flutters between the doorsill
and through the letterbox
like bills overdue and invoices outstanding. A postal aroma,
envelope glue smells like flowers to me.
I was never granted the privilege of rearranging flowers
You said, there was more to life than flora,
these emerald, sap dripping, saturated stems
Swelling petals fascinated under my untried eyes,
You said I must not even graze the things.
I longed for a taste of the forbidden flora.
Did buds taste like honey? Were they sour like you told me?
Would they poison these supple
and innocent lips, turn them pink to grey?
Could tastebuds kiss the perennial vines,
the posies, the spray of efflorescence
A taste of simple sweetness -
I remember when you ripped the front-porch-lavender.
The roots could not resist your claws.
You sweat to mutilate strained flowers,
You always work harder. Verdure spoiled.
Ravaged, ruptured, tanked soil.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
The glory of failure.
It’s just **** with sugar on
Jam and cream without the scone.
Because when I’m begging out in the street
And my eyes happen to meet those eyes that look down
To me on the ground, and you put a coin in my cup,
Just remember you’re looking down I’m the one looking up.
And for those who pass by while shedding a tear
Don’t worry yourself none I’ve made enough for my gear
And more than enough for a couple of beers.
I know what you’ll say
You’ll say, I waste life away
Like I’ve wasted this day.
But I’ll say, I made enough to pay for my addiction.
The seduction which leads me to say
That’s the glory of failure.
I saw an advert for a job and this job was paying quite a few bob.
But I wouldn’t have got it…no sugar just ****
So I didn’t bother trying
I went back to lying on my bed
I went back to getting out of my head.
When all’s done and said I’m just a no hoper
A drug fiendish doper.
That’s the glory of failure.
If I could have a chance, a second chance, a last chance
To get my brain round to thinking
To think I’ll stop drinking.
I could get off the gear, I could get off my rear.
I could send my C.V to employers
Those employers who are known as the unemployment destroyers.
I could have a meaning instead of this leaning I have,
Towards self destruction.
I could get a job on a site become involved in construction.
So many things on the doorstep right here
But really
I much rather prefer getting ****** on the gear.
Oh yes that’s the glory of failure.
I should get myself well move out from this hell
But what the doctors have said is, in six months I’ll be dead
So I’m going to make tracks.
No,not those made by the needle
I’m going to wheedle
My way into a hospice which could be quite nice.
I think that’s the glory of failure
But what the hey I’m a guardian reader
But unlike other guardian readers those centre right bleeders
I’m totally anarchist, often totally tanked up and ******
But in reading the guardian I just cannot lose
It makes such wonderful padding for the holes in the soles of my shoes.
And I’ve had plenty of dates with several girlfriends of mates
But when they’re looking down there and they see nothing stir.
That may be the glory of failure.
Perhaps when I’m old and I’m ready to die
I might cast my mind back and I might wonder why,
Every time I have failed the boat seems to have just sailed.
But I was never a sailor.
I was just a participant in
The Glory Of Failure.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
I didn’t see it coming,
It wasn’t set on my nightly planner.
4 sober hours ago seem so far away now.
On my left hand,
cherry red lipstick smug stains shows memories of a forgotten night that I’ll always have to regret.
See, I only wish it was lipstick.
Truthfully, I know that 2 hours and a 5th of ***** earlier I was all to worried about which girl I want to take home.
Stumble 1 drunken hour later,
keg stands and **** rips have me defying gravity and federal law.
My beer googles are activated,
I’m captivated with the idea of driving.
30 smashed minutes forward,
I finally reach the forbidden fruit with
2
beautiful blonde blue-eyed babes.
Tumbling into our seats,
we were invincible.
Plastering our way forward through empty roads and city streets,
I’m reminiscent on stop signs and brake lights.
I hear cherry red lips speak sensual words into my ear,
whispers of achieving my goal.
It’s stated eyes are windows to the soul,
this is true because I could see it in the reflection of pupils,
a single tree along with it.
I turn my beer goggles quick enough to see this wasn’t a tanked-up nightmare but,
the bark of a beast that makes no noise.
I saw 2 beautiful blonde blue-eyed girls fly threw my windshield,
I wonder what their moms will say.
I got wrecked to wreck the lives of not only myself but
of entire families and lives
that weren’t even created yet.
I’ll never know the wonders I killed,
the hopes I stabbed,
the dreams I cut down deeply into their veins and watched them bleed out.
30 somber minutes I spent finding nothing else to blame,
it’s all on me,
I was the drunk judge, jury and executioner.
Now, I look to my left hand,
wishing 4 sober hours ago,
I could’ve saw it coming.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
Growing up unguided and penniless
Torturous upbringing pushing me down
A handgun, speculating and rash
Gluttony attempts to smother my eyes
Wearing the condemnation of men
Appropriating the virtues of girls
Feasting in the winds of a fandango
Weakening under the need for support
Emblazoned under the influence of white powder nights
Ceilings lights spinning out of control
Locked up and discover the stars in strife
Sweet seclusion with a Beelzebub for company
Crawling through the gutters on all fours to get out
Black and white key arias connected
Caressing coloraturia platitudes on fire
Busting a gut on the walkway to truth
Peaceful vigilance a bismillah fraternity
Deserted, drowning in civilisation
Tanked, yanked and naked
Is this Mama Mia
Standing on two feet
Rebuked, not loved
Rebellion, unshackled
Revelations, so, not want to die
Reciting bohemian poetry before the bullet strikes high
Scaramouche....
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 1:59 PM UTC
i just want to be me; dont tell me how to live
other chose to be gay but that all i have to say
seperated by church and state how could people have faith
republican democrate the economy is tanked for everyone
skin shouldnt matter or if you are fatter
all entitled to rights and live lifestyles
even if they don not sound right to others
we claim to have free speak but cant say anything offensive
why cant the world unite all ppl do is talk smack and fight
complain because everyone wants to be right
losing track of the truth lke a blindsight
people choose a career over marriage and kids
you can mix it up but others wont let you live it up
the life you live and all you give everyone will be happy
once they love themself and find the style that makes them the individual
makes them unique not like the rest in this contry
be whoever you want everyone is different aiming to be the best
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
I enveloped the strange emotions which we ping as I eclipsed
your world and bid a tearless goodbye but I tanked
Yet I tattooed the pig on the green line
engulfed in diamonds
and drained
by your glorious throne
I pitched the ****** nightingales
a simple truce
feeling blackened with scars
burning in an ocean of salted
lies piped in the shame
of your venom
as I caked
I whispered
ocypus
I prayed to a bloodied red sky while purple with fear
I ran to the bed of the river where I tanked
seeing your soul floating about
I drained the rain as I pinned your
ghost to the wall
He raked your existence with a ding
crossed the road to burn
his ashes and they danced about
inheriting a swiped out
throne
the salt in your tongue
rotting with bitter
I warned you about the
snakes in the bed and the wolf
in the closet
biting off the head of the
lamb
I carried on without you over in my dreams and dropped
all manner of myself by the hint of a storm
fragile
peeling off the layers I sigh
dogged by the gloom
and wheat in your rye
I refocus
flaked in scars
and battles
I am boiled in anger
cracked with laughter
I am beset while enjoying me
a white russian
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
Growing up alone
A world of torture
Speculating and waste
Drowning in gluttony
Wearing the condemnation of men
Appropriating the virtues of girls
Feasting in the winds of noise
Dealing the white powders
Trialling the ceilings lights
Filling containers for strife
Sweet seclusion with a toilet for company
Crawling through the gutters on all fours
Black and white keys connected
Caressing platitudes on fire
Busting a gut on the walkway
Peaceful vigilance a fraternity
Standing on two feet
Tanked, yanked and naked
Where is that space in time
Deserted, drowning in civilisation
Rebuked
Rebellion
Revelations
Reciting poetry
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 8:08 PM UTC
I could barely keep my eyes open.
I was so wasted.
So drunk, I forgot my name.
So buzzed, I failed to remember my worth.
So intoxicated, I don’t remember exactly what happened.
All I can recall is the fact that I was so incredibly tanked.
Only, it wasn’t alcohol I was getting high off.
No, it wasn’t *** or ****
coke, or molly,
beer or whiskey,
tequila or *****
My mother warned me about all of those.
But she, among other people,
“forgot” to warn me about the living, breathing drugs;
the ones they don’t tell you about in school.
The tan, brown eyed, black haired ones.
The ones with the tender kisses after every hit.
The ones with the charming smiles and the sparkling eyes.
Those are the ones
no one ever mentions.
Although, they are the worst for your health;
emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual…
no one gives you the precaution.
And soon enough,
you find yourself
burned out,
shaking,
dizzy and
nauseous
because of this one fatal addiction.
The name of this cruel intoxication?
The Player.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
tanked, no tide
fins fiddle, quiver so
to stay still and float,
territorial
fish bowl acre,
feeding frenzy for
one,
plastic plants placed
on rocks ranging in the round with rainbow
hues,
with unattractive algae, be-
ginning to creep up the glass
of once was a clear quartz cookie
jar, Joe is contained,
no complaints,
he gets three free meals a day,
and is right now hearing the strains
of Cello Suites one through six,
light shining
into his ocean tide
pool,
waiting on me for his last
feeding of the day, then darkness
will fall and the false moonlight
will let him him be to play
or sleep...not knowing his
body of water is not the only
one!
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Saturday
shop busy
you with Dylan Thomas’s
Deaths & Entrances
poetry book
tucked in
your inside pocket
of your brown jacket
Miss Croft
Saturday girl
dark hair
ponytailed
swaying
her tight ***
in her short skirt
up and down
the shop aisle
Duff the manager
bespectacled
with curly mass
of dark hair
standing there
cigarette in mouth
conversing
with a customer and wife
about which paint
went best
with what wallpaper
giving the dame
the eye
giving the charm
you tanked up
(you worked better
that way)
with some old couple
wanting curtains
to match
the wallpaper choice
the blue flowers
the pattern
the old guy gazing
at the Croft girl
the way
she wiggled her ***
her la-de-da tones
her bright eyed
expression
then she talked
to friends from college
more friends
than Trotsky
had enemies
standing there
hands on hips
tight tee shirt
small ****
and can you order this
in a light blue
the old dame asked
the blue here’s
too dark
the old guy nodded
his head turned
eyes on his wife’s
profile
sure sure
you said
controlling the slur
the beer taking hold
the old dame
seemed pleased
her husband gave
the Croft girl
another secret gaze
her tight *** moving
side to side
as she walked
the aisle
her friends departed
you watched her
with her bourgeoisie
life and ways
her small tight body
wrapped
like a dream
and the sale complete
the old couple
went away
through the business
of wallpaper
and paint
all of a Saturday.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
I had thought that I wanted a mug,
so I sought an adventure and dug!
"I'm just digging materials..." I shrugged:
"I'm just wanting enough to be chugged!"
But instead what I found was a Bowl,
from a 20th century ghoul.
On its side was inscripted in gold:
OH BEWARE I WAS CURSED AND THEN SOLD!
So I thought and I thinked and I thank,
and I brought my new thing to the bank!
But before I could speak I was yanked—
I had fallen but It had me tanked!
In a daze I was scrambling to piece,
all the shards that had broke, as the peace,
and to fix it all back in the leasts,
so that we don't all turn into beasts!
Jan 31, 2023
Jan 31, 2023 at 2:23 PM UTC
The smoke in the air tells a story
As she ***** on a cigarette.
She sits in a park, alone at night
Waiting for someone to tell her to go home
Before they call the police.
The smoke in the air tells a story.
She remembers the days before she needed this fix
The days when she was happy.
Times before her ex-boyfriend tanked her self-esteem
Times prior to some guy picking her up when she was
Down and out
He used her for his own selfish needs
Left her feeling *****
He covered his tracks to make sure
No one would believe her.
The smoke in the air tells a story.
As the way it crawls down her throat and chokes her
Reminds her of the era
Not long ago
When bulimia was her best friend.
Why does she still wish at times
That she could purge her life away?
The smoke in the air tells a story.
Of the times when her ex brought her Marlboros
And they polished off a pack when her parents weren't home.
They were such a cliché, with cigarettes after ***
But that's exactly how she wanted it to be.
The smoke in the air tells a story.
About the week after her grandfather suddenly passed away
She was on her ninth day without sleep
Chain smoking provided her with some relief
And so did passing out in an empty lot.
The smoke in the air tells a story
Her story
My story.
So I suppose one more pack couldn't hurt.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
These words are all I have
Deep rooted down, looking just to grab
Substance that is textural text on pedestal
I’m trying to be a person
that Isn’t so forgettable
It’s hard to cross that line,
When you want to optimize
Because everything thing you know
Is in an ocean full of lies
Will you drown or arise?
Fish hook down Pull your soul to the sky
watch you rise above the tides
of the hate and the demise
I see that vibes are strong as eyes
When they flicker in night
From this point
I have a made a decision
Too cut deep
like the slice of an incision
To do what I want
No matter what the outcome is
Tangerine Dreams
Rituals of an Alchemist
Often result
in calculations
Equivalent to calculus
When I have Dreams
I visualize with the alphabet
This is sponsored by
the human life, a billion lives
Which intertwine, Who’ve been defined by actions done in repetition
Exhibit A
Point blank, this blanks a tanked state You’ve learned once don’t make the same mistake,
Remove the “mis” out of “take”
then take that opportunity, don’t miss a thing because that “s” is where you want to be.
S is for success S is for solution I is for identifying M’s is for the Movement
Don’t rearrange these letters
or you’ll lose this
Focus that you have,
positivity is blooming
Reverse the negativity
Convert your best of energies
Revert from being cloned
Create your own identity
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
In that country
They played Red Rover.
We know who
Was called over.
In that country
The played Red Light, Green Light.
That tanked.
In that country
They played Mother May I?
Not yet.
In my country
We play Blind Man's Bluff.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
Maybe in the beginning, heart was created with no door, no gaps.
We need a collision for the sake of the collision, until it can be opened.
Maybe that's why people say love comes with hurt.
And happiness is what is harvested from the tears that are spilled.
About you who wake up in the morning with a smile, maybe in the future you're going to cry.
Maybe the guy who are with you overnight it tanked heavily, then alcohol in his stomach gave a command to kiss you.
Maybe he started to not want to lose you; admirer.
Maybe you're just like the other admirers; admirable.
Maybe he probably just borrow your heart to bubbling up his anger on someone. So your smile can be simply wraps for a painful that cringe when it is felt.
Maybe you are simply a tool for him to train his agility in flattering.
Maybe you are an incident. Incidentally when his bed was empty.
Maybe you're a good girl, may also be too good.
Maybe your hug is comfort enough to **** his spare time.
Maybe he was tired of getting to know and be known again.
Maybe you're so beautiful in his eyes, but not in his heart.
Maybe he's never too old to live with someone, so he thinks, what he feels about you is just what he has to fear.
Maybe you're just skilled in making love, but not in loving him.
Maybe the fall of you is very simple for him, just as simple as he gave his lips to you, and also to the other.
In the end, maybe, you just don't have to expect more, than a minute of happiness you receive from him.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
Noggin ferments the senses in mire
Ruby-wrapped in friendship or desire
Nurtures Dutch courage, kisses and amour
Furtive affairs distant, fading more
At the wheel, oh, he’s in control
He’s a mate, a real card, a party soul
His friends ahead had one for the road
They’ll be safe; they walked as told
Windscreen shatters, crimson-smeared
Carved mosaics of friends without tears
Tanked up on noggin and that extra jar
Crimson-wrapped denial in a twisted car
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
Bounding forth toward recognition,
Strangling, crippling indecision,
The utmost folly as of yet unyielding,
The exaggeration what with any feeling,
Derisive in itself made one,
Come and gone, done, undone,
We search for that which we’re not worth knowing,
We understand less, and even more showing
Is that our arrogance somehow justifies class,
It just but seemingly turns so crass,
An outright parody of what we were meant to be,
Our aims were lustful gain and greed,
There was at one point meaning here,
But through all we have persevered,
We twisted the morals and lessons to be had,
Emerged a joke, and tanked the land,
Bred it and ourselves to be this way,
And wait for a leader to swift us away,
We act without knowledge and ignore the outcome,
Malignant negligence stemming from
Our inability to understand
That there is no salvation because of Man.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Eli had no reason to hang around
while the band shaved their skulls
& went full-tilt Nihilism, singing
about nothing at all. Normally
immune to Strychnine, Jane was
spontaneously bleeding from the
face; seeing his opportunity, Ivan
pulled her onto the stage.
Thereupon the crowd erupted in
furious moshing;
The Band revisited DEAD POWER,
played Brutal Church & songs from
the ***** Tour, encore after encore
while Jane was brought to the Hosp.
Knowing Eli Simple was a known
collaborator with the riotous band,
the Russian Police, informed that Eli
had flown to Montenegro, the police
tried to extort a bribe from the
feckless poet-musicians; It was Ivan
who suggested a Benefit Concert for
the police. Of course, everyone
agreed. Instead of shutting the band
down they were plugged into the City's
power grid & blacked out Eurasia ...
The morning sun returning sleepily
to the gilded old city, no arrests had
been reported the entire night; all brawls
broken out in the spirit of jocular fun,
black eyes & bruises notwithstanding.
Jane was the talk of the town: "Like an
American Horror Movie!" they said.
Chuckie's stick figure had been fitted
into a red bikini & she sat smiling,
tanked up on coffee in the day room.
Eli handed her his glass of whisky &
lita cigarette. The head housekeeper
also greeted the man of the house
with a hearty smile; "Oh, MIster
Simple, I am so happy you brought
home Miss Arzhaiana. My gransparants
are Chukchi." The newlyweds took
turns drinking from the glass.
Chuckie was already thirsty & Eli
inevitably bored. The News was filled
with multiple contradictory reports
of the St. Petersburg Policeman's
Benevolence Society Fundraiser,
which raised no money but the city's
overall morale was greatly improved.
Every citizen had an unflinching
grin on their face, as if overnight
they'd been purged of the vilest
demons of their country's centuries
of violent repression & persecution.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
I got inspired and started writing at the airport.
A mile high.
Like I tried to write a lullaby for you and I.
Do or die?
Til death do us apart.
I’ll let you decide.
Tried to ride the wave, but they tanked and couldn’t catch the tide.
Slicing everybody up some humble pie.
Hold me down through my troubled times.
Or you can be another victim to my stubborn pride.
A Nipsey quote.
Cleared the air but now, I want all the smoke.
It’s one love but still missing substance, are you even woke.
Lacking all the talent, recreate your passion.
People die from what they fake,
and put it in a caption.
Rags to riches in my own fashion.
Avoiding all distractions.
Done overreacting over selfish and childish actions.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
I was jonesing for his rack city
Of steezy-splash flavor
His stacks on stacks
Of million-level magic mantasticness
His salivatable splashiness
His kryptonite-level kisses
Lingered through the seamless streams
Of my mindscape
My swagger-built heart-grabber
My soul-puller groover
My Rolex-grade Romeo
Had me trapped in an ocean of lust
A skyful of hyperdrive highs
A thousand-tier thrills
Had me feenin’ for his
Infinity of warmth
On the freeway chasing
His dream guy dapper style
My mega-trill fantasy
Tanked off his champagne game
My sunrise flame
Overdosed on his head-spinningly handsome masculinity
His intoxicatingly enamoring masterpiece
He was my jackpot heartthrob FM
Spinning top-tier slow jams
Through my full-spectrum rainbow mindscape
Got my gay dial jammed on man-fever max
Sliding delightfully through his
Slinky steelo clouds
Submerged in his superbalicious paradise
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 1:23 PM UTC
Until I stretch,
4
For nothing
And
No one
I am nothing
But I swear
The
Putrid whisper tanked
Shaking existence
Laughs at
All that was ever
All that was
And all
That would ever be.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 9:42 PM UTC