"throttled" poems
It is only in the state of galvanization,
do I realize what it means to be impervious in youth.
I have a father who stresses to me this:
"Happiness is elusive."
This is the kind of statement that must be swished around in the mouth,
only to be spat back out.
"Happiness is elusive."
It is cause for concern,
really.
I will do my best in order to refuse to believe it,
to believe him.
Happiness is achieved through discovery.
I think that I may have once had a sister (in my recollection she was very pretty).
I was around her whenever it was deemed possible to do so -- it honestly wasn't too often that I could.
In the very nooks and crannies of my childhood,
if I could fall back unto the natural sublimity of it all;
I do recall that I had a sister.
Her features must have been youthful,
from what I remember she was no more than inexplicable.
If it were not so ambiguous,
I might feel more inclined to speak with her again some day.
The past is a scary thing.
I feel pain in thinking of the lengths behind me,
for what I have cultivated is sour.
Recently a good friend accused me of this:
"Being a recluse, spiteful, selfish person."
Her notion both confused and throttled me,
and only afterward did she speak in such a fervently aural tone:
"That is o.k., you're only human after all."
This is the very comment that sliced my being into a duality,
leaving me to write poetry in order to attempt to find higher acceptance.
Wisdom is a well, funny euphemism for delusion;
And in my youth I am impervious.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
maybe the reason why I dislike Batman
and love the X-Men
is because Batman, gifted with money and power, chose his struggle
the X-Men were forced- they had mutanthood shoved upon them
and had to be crucifed as society pushed them away
hiding in fear and hatred of what they must face
the X-Men learn to adapt, they take what they have
and choose to be the better man, or the worse man,
but they take the fight that was given them
and the freakery that they were born with,
and they adapt.
Batman, however, was born normally,
did not have to run or hide, for he was privileged,
and he walked, walked straight into freakery
he took the burden others were throttled with
and laid it upon his own shoulders, crying 'woe is me'
whilst he went about the noble task of hero-dom
he made himself a fancy suit- he had been given
normalcy and he invented freakery in order to claim sacrifice
he did not need to give himself- he was an ordinary man
that laid down his life.
The reason why that bothers me so much
is that ordinary men do not need to lay down their lives
they are not called to that future
it is not in their cards
he claimed his heroic deeds and choose to throw himself into the
furnace flames- while others suffered unwillingly
he chose it
he took their pain and made it less
'see, I can do it! anyone can do it!'
what makes the X-Men special is that
their mutation isn't 'deal with pain of superheroism'
it's some other power, but they have to learn how to be ostracized
not anyone can do that- they had to
their survival depended on it
Batman walked into the struggle of their lives
and declared himself a hero
though, for some, the declaration
was not in their words or actions, it was written
into their DNA, it was marked in their skin
by the brands of their oppressors, it
was pounded into every heartbeat shocked with electricity
they fought and hid their heroism their whole lives
for they knew- it was not something to love,
it was something to suffer with-
and Batman took that, he took the heroism
and he projected it across the night sky,
declaring, "I am Batman",
and it is something he can escape from,
he can walk away, he can walk away, he can walk away,
and yes, he chooses not to,
but what he does is steal from those who cannot walk away
his heroism takes the nails in the hands of mutants and orphans
and masochistically drives them into his own palms
crying whilst doing it.
rather than being forced to adapt and look normal,
he puts on a suit and prances through the night dramatically
he takes everything sufferable about being a hero
and tosses it out the window-
he takes everything noble about being a hero
and growls it in a dramatic voice, posing, in his fancy suit,
when he could be safe at home. why would you choose this
why would anyone choose this
be thankful for your ability to be safe,
that is the real superpower- the ability
to be normal, to have a home to go back to, to
have a normal purpose and a normal life,
and Batman is completely, utterly, ungrateful-
he wishes there were more,
while those born with 'gifts' would be satisfied with even less.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
In this, my last hour of rhyme,
with stains uncontainèd by shaking hands
Spreading like red soldiers running wartime
untempered by generals shouting commands
Then laughing like drunkards, drowning in wine
that rich purple spills out from its barrels
Then lying on bartops, eyes shine porcine
and unheard soft voices hiss curses and carols.
O, woe be on me if I speak out of time;
out-tumbling come innards, spewed from a mouth
Which whispered sad prayers in corners of grime:
hints of spring-season on trips to the south;
Watch them out-tumble, watch horri-divine
like the death of the tragic, acted but true
Yet laughing old minstrels declare it quite fine:
and friends ensure royal-men breathe not from the blue.
Hours fly past on wings of the Sun
who turns misted eyes from child-fight below
And lives lives of many, but cares not for none
not least merchant servants, throttled in the snow.
I fade and I fade: a blossom once watered
and love of the stage is clogging my throat
It changes my words: I fight it, I fought it
and hot-wet floods up with drowning and choke.
This minute, these words: I defy death.
And cold, outward slipping: my slow final breath.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
4.6k
Disclaimer: I did this as a creative rewrite for one of my university lit courses, and all the inspiration and quotes belong to Robert Browning the original writer of "My Last Duchess"
HIS LAST DUCHESS
ARRIVEDERCI
_“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.”_ (I’m not)
Alas! Me, “a wonder.” He calls.
Now wretchedly refined and pasteurized.
To be consumed, now, for genteel eyes.
Pity! Should you ever see me roll mine.
Behind those curtains, you might have been surprised
To see my countenance whimpering
At you Sir; and seething, at _Him._
Must you not be fooled by that sickly decorum
Upon which his manly pride resides.
The Duke—what rich talent in envy he has,
And of pithy idiosyncrasies! Pardon me now
As I speak of his infamies: Is it not,
Too preposterous of a Duke, to sulk
And take offense, over a blush?
(As if the blush was his to wield and shun.)
Am I not allowed to flush _at all?_
And must I be ashamed of being swooned
By the casual offers of life’s grandiosities?
Each and every, dropping of the daylight,
Ripen cherries in May and chivalrous gentlemen,
my dear white mule; must I then weep
at them all, only to prove my fancy for him.
And when does gracious gratitude itself
become in vain: a finite honour—
deemed excessive elsewhere?
Never had he plucked me out, for censure,
Before he gave commands, I knew he did
To pluck the smile out of my face.
Utterly clueless—he thought I was
To find myself throttled, for immodesty.
A wife, an appendage to a Duke,
Loosely felled, to stroke a green-eyed ego.
My fault it seems, is a mere generosity
Of affection: falsely opined, if not
Misread, to fare a defect of temperament,
A chronic malady, doth be cured by death.
To cement the farce he will, soon, bring you
Downstairs to meet a friend. (a fiend)
A prized possession: Neptune, taming a sea-horse.
His hubris incarnate, cast in bronze.
But you must know the truth, for the sea-horse
Did not perish for naught, she is freed from him
At last.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
the skull and spine of seventy seven men, extracted.
retribution far past putrefaction.
a pile of bones in the center of town, at the corner of washington
& rochambeau.
gather around.
do you believe in the boogeyman?
a glitch in the darkness.
an echo of rage, high chroma bacteriophage.
every faithless father,
every sister spared,
every ritual sung just right, a brief blackout,
reconfigured pixels of outer night.
[bobby’s sega genesis awakens on its own]
thirty three years to the day, he
died on that suncrest boulevard, returned today just to say “hey.”
graveyard family tree and the moon.
first as a manifestation of electromagnetic phenomena
in a videogame’s cpu. 1993.
second as a fully-fledged entity materialized via videocassette,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance. 2001.
third from beneath bedrock, the quarry belly baste,
a body buried thrice, undead toxic tumescence,
a walking corpse heaving black plasma. 2020.
the sequel.
the son.
the spectral chosen one, he
rips out a throat or two, quite fashionably so,
a man about town throttled and disemboweled,
as friends and neighbors stumble and sprint to escape with their own godforsaken skin.
let the bone collection begin.
emerged in afterschool hallways to **** old classmates turned teachers.
emerged in afterhours offices to devour old buddies turned bankers.
emerged in the quiet dark homes of neighborhood flesh and folk.
blood soaked socks.
why? you ask, must all these people die?
vengeance? no.
that was a lie.
he killed those people for a laugh
& that’s that.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
It started when I looked at the clock:
9:17
The coffee maker convinced me to stay
Had I planned to leave?
Yes, of course, the channel
I left it on
She's there. Again?
Wait, I heard that!
Who's there?
#*“Could find my way to Marianna---ahah--ah”
The sine wave! That's it!
I left them in the car.
These fibers are congregating
They want to get me,
But I am just a flea!*
It started when I looked at the clock:
9:18
I sat down with Earth and ate Earl's burrito
Saturn bent down and showed me tomorrow
The radio crackled as the molecules throttled
^“We're all Immigrants and hypocrites, delusionals and sycophants”
I saw my fingers start to disappear
Then my hands, my arms
Even my ears! My EARS!
I loved those ears...
It started when I looked at the clock:
9:16
They're here, aren't they?
Radio crackles, you heard them!
They're audible!
(3333333)
The gorilla near the out goes strut, strut, strut
I felt the universe collapse inside my gold tux
Could you watch my fish for me?
Marked stuff borrowed from:
# Pixies- Wave of Mutilation
^Star ******* Hipsters- Immigrants and Hypocrites
I felt like it, that's why.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 6:47 PM UTC
Her tone,
Crispy like new pair of headphones,
Screams when I finger down her G string,
Love hearing her moan,
Get over here and lay on my lap,
One hand down your neck while the other's ready to smack,
She's a brand new model,
My pick up line was immaculate,
Coke bottle modelling body,
Fuzz pedal throttled and jacked you in,
You fret all day and no one to hammer your strings,
******* Brew** in Chili Peppers but I'm willing to make you Cream,
So lay across my leg and let me do the rest,
All that phat bass and no one to properly make you wet,
Rubbing across your curves making sure your knobs are turned,
Steel strings tight and ready to give this spanking you deserve,
Tease and deceive till your ready to sing,
Slip my fingers down your A and I'm ready to B,
Playing your scales,
Hitting that tail,
Your mahogany curves scrumptious as hell,
Maybe I'll stand up and ****** my hips,
Into that back of that phat bass while loving the notes you hit,
Strap you on because the way I like to hit it is hard,
Octaves ****** and quiver on my fingers,
Your heart,
The shape of that wide, seductive and sumptuous ***
All that bass you have can make any guy..........
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
Dizzy, the rush
of thoughts incapacitate
synapses firing, neurons
throttled, a crescendo
of dendrites branching
Experience roots
inwardly, tearing the humus
of pregnant dreams, scratching to see
the blood beneath the scab.
The greater the itch, the greater
the disturbance of sleep,
bound by a tangle of vines,
deafened by the cobbling-together
of thrushspeak, the cry of clouds
contorting into unthinkable
and suggestive shapes
Bleary-eyed, the lost wages
of sleep gambled away
on a ticking clock.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Hey crow! Where Venus infers such that glass is TheHollow shell of tortoise blossoms oozing the Nyrous tips of incredulous sorceries, felt from oozing blue tears. The shapes are scented for you, the wands of new beginnings that carry you on. Leopards. Sunrises. Footsteps and madmen. Blitzkrieg harkening the weather's ovivorous lightning bursts to shake one's ears. White-colored hermine heroines throttled and wet with shades of gear. Small ranchito shrubs goose-pimple my skin, my hide; and shake this moon. Sway, into the early sun. Burning close to me.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
I seen her there in that rocking chair
Grey hair flying everywhere
She was rocking as fast as could be
Letting out shrill squeaks of glee
Beneath the wrinkles you could still see
The child she so long ago use to be
In her eyes was a glint
Of a woman hell bent
On squeezing out every once of fun
She knew her time was almost done
But for today she hadn't a care
Let the people stare
I watched the grandkids climb onboard
As Grandma throttled up and the soared
For imagination was her most prized possession
She was leaving it to her grandkids, you could see it in their expression
This lesson from their wild haired grandma that they got
Would never ever be forgot
As that rocking chair flew back and fourth
Leaving the gravity of earth
Headed for an adventure out in the galaxy
Sharing Grandma's fantasy
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
The wicked, they come
In a cerulean dream.
The cellar door opened,
With an opposable thumb.
A disposable past
And no ties in the future,
They live within ******
And die through their caste.
Oh, Ford! They cry out
For all of their blessings.
Oh, Ford! I cry too,
To drown silent doubt.
“Take me to your room.”
She breathes, voice coppered,
She conducts me. Unzips in
One movement, fit to bloom.
“Lenina,” I call,
Eyes blinded by her colour.
In a world so built and grey,
I live only in her sprawl.
We finish, my heart descending.
She nicks her lips to my ear,
Then reminds me thus;
“Ending is better than mending.”
To bed we fall; once, twice, thrice.
Each time I cling longer,
Wrap her in bedsheets,
‘Till she feels our ****** splice.
With no use, she’s gone
To some other embrace.
Some cold shouldered support,
Then to the salon.
She’ll tell all to her friends,
A gaggle of giggles.
And he’ll speak of her,
Like some means to an end.
“Pneumatic,” is she,
He’ll say with no stutter,
“You should have her,” he’ll offer,
Like the fruit from a tree.
No, like meat, like meat,
She is passed around.
Like animals, the Alphas
Bruise, **** and maltreat.
Community. Snake-like,
It moves as if one.
Each person a muscle,
Not separate but a part.
Identity. It blurs,
‘Till I forget the use
Of my name. Push it out,
Repeat in my dreams.
Stability. It comes,
A two-gramme holiday.
A superficial guffaw
That veneers my face.
Oh, Soma! Come take me,
From where I don’t belong.
To where passions are birthed
Far from the hatchery.
To where feelings are heartfelt,
Not found in a pill.
Where waistlines aren’t throttled
By a Malthusian belt.
A savage I am,
In my pursuit for more.
When I long for freedom,
And not another half-gramme.
Gaia, she held us in her womb.
From fish to ape, she mothered too.
Now all that’s left is this soulless gloom
Where man is born only to consume.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
Earth is the scene of crime for many a death ,
Throttled by insane brains , gasping for breath.
The world is in a triage situation !
Best way to change the future is through productive communication .
Build a pathway that sets forth values , love , Respect and Compassion .
Why let Earth go through the pain ?
For what you give is what you gain !
Splash the seeds of love , sprinkle the manure of kindness , see the Earth prosper with fondness in total oneness!!
Attracting the beauty of the Earth like a magnet ,
We are the Gardner's of the planet !!
© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:45 AM UTC
Abused, Abandoned and Alone,
Bound, Beaten and Bruised
Captured and Categorized
****** Defeated and Damaged
Encompassed
Faded, Failing, Flinching
Gagged
Hopeless, Helpless and Hospitalized
Idealized, Impaired and Intoxicated
Judged
Kicked, Kept and Kissed
Labelled,
Marked, Molested and Misguided
Neglected
Obeying, Observed and Offended
Panicking, Pummelled and Promised
Quivering and Quaking
*****
Screaming, Scared and Starved
Throttled, Thirsty and Thinning
Unloved and Unable
Victimized
Wailing, Weakening and Wondering
an X
Yelling, Yanked and Yielding
Zeroed
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 10:07 AM UTC
Your flickering tongue spiked with untruths,
A rose throttled by weeds and thorns,
The consuming darkness in the light;
A candle burnt into the eternal night.
Your mind a tangled pit of snakes,
Doors to opportunities now sealed,
An elegant dancer with blistered feet;
Drowning in torrents of whispered ink.
A slither of ice running through your heart,
A tarnished lock lacking a key,
Fragments of a crushed mirror;
Sewn apiece with angel's hair.
Your soul scorched to the pigment of death,
A glassy apple, decaying within,
Songbirds chant the sound of silence;
Tales untold, veiled poems.
Your eyes glazed by splintered glass,
Pure joy emitting as a strangled shriek,
A sweet kiss, laced with sweeter poison;
A fluttering heart locked within a fist.
Through your veins rush jets of flame,
The silver moon rains crimson droplets,
The radiant sun unleashes an ebony beast;
A star bursts into one million fragments.
You twirl upon a bed of nails,
Time's grain swept away by midnight's shore,
Wispy peaks gradually morph into shadows;
An embrace molds into a satisfying throttle.
Your brain, ribbons of foolishness and greed,
The universe crumbling within a mere breath,
The snow a shade of darkest ebony;
Rain misted with terminal acid.
Behind the facade of beauty,
Some things are not as they seem,
Under the masquerade of innocence;
Lurk twisted, deceiving dreams.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
They call me, kids, the Kool-Aid Man
Because I mix it well;
And when I mix the Kool-Aid, man,
It hits you hard as hell!
The trip's a scream; it's rotten; it's mean;—
It casts an evil spell;—
It's a fast, full-throttled, steep careen
Into the bowls of hell!
And only heroes can drink it, kids,
So, pour it down; it's swell
For erasing egos, erasing ids,
And making heroes as well!
O.O
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
i feel like something is lost
something that has no name
no colour
no smell
i was shown my face today
i had to hear
what you did to me
i had carried myself
without crutches or aids
i had trodden quietly
where i could
i feel an immense loss
for the innocence you *****
the love you choked
the gifts you broke
if this is what i escaped,
why do i feel like grief?
i am cold
here
now
i dont want to remember
what you did
but i cant escape it either
the bloodlust in your eyes
the ****** in your hands
the physcial hurt
you bestowed upon me
i trusted you
with my life
and you throttled it
untill it died
i am stronger than then
i hope i am stronger than then
i think i am stronger than then
please, god, let me be stronger than then
why do i feel like something has died?
when i have won by leaving your abuse?
maybe,
the death of my self-image
the mask i thought had worked
they saw through it all
and they knew
that you were drowning me
and now they see
how i am shining
away from your shadow
maybe, now
i can have my watershed
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 8:09 AM UTC
I - The Sound Abattoir
Crisp fractal, sunlight
on new-day sweat.
No one inside knows
about the new day yet.
Forms **** and spin
and they toil not.
Skeletons can sway
with impulse 'til they rot.
Crush-a-pill with rosy tint
to last you all the night.
Catch-a-number 'neath your tongue
and later you'll revive his Fright.
Pleasure, fleshly grimace
scours the brain against the skull.
Apartment movement never stops
and starts and sweat-sheen from the pull.
II - O Androgyne
I cannot see the world for his broad face.
The smell of sulphur would be welcome but
To choke the alcoholic reek he brings
By clutching him to me in slick embrace.
I gain his absence when I ask for breath
And he, the smiling nitwit, must consent,
So I duck to the streets with haste and breathe.
A moment in my father's sight is death.
He could not know the life that I now lead,
And all the misery I rail against;
My form is set upon the grind of days
To starve in hard-brick walls of earthly need.
Moonlit ********** strips charm from the sick
And faces all too masculine leer back
From windows; prostitutes with glitter hair
As deathbed cries of need cut down the quick.
III - A Solomon Grundy Secret
I will be, as a child,
Crushed under black boot
and throttled with Belt.
Taught to be the Man we were.
I am, as a man,
disciplined with the
golden silence
and icegrip of
solitude. No one knows
my stigmata better than
the Romans that wash
their hands of me.
I was,
as graying
Figure
nearing death,
too late to
utter any-thing of
Weight
at my
dying,
Last
breath.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
The hardest thing back then
was recognising the joys -
often hidden in plain sight
often throttled by the noise
but not without a fight.
So later, we knew the joys
by their red tears
by their diamond belief
that even in the discord
their clarity would remain
that the deepest caves
will give echo to truth
beyond this darkness.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 4:15 AM UTC
born into nothing
still got most
made it to the bottom
from the starting post
expectation throttled
expected overdose
no escape
cant evade
foundations were imposed
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
Western star
I set for hours in the darkness spellbound you held my gaze
The trees and night darkness completed the picture
Your mind races ever higher quiet etude the engulfing blaze
Silver light breaks all captivity you to are suspended held amidst glories brow
Within darkness you are the cloaked sojourner destination improbability
Somewhere in the mix of thoughts for a brief time you are free of all concerns
All that exists is the span of distance in all this voluminous emptiness lies compatibility
Measureless void you wash in great waves against my enthralled soul
You give abundant texture to the wall and windows that I view this indispensible wonder
Because I know you seem localized but half of the earth at least can be held in the same awe
The earth when viewed aright by going to the edge and then stepping into space unchained bounder
Do you affix your very being to channels that gird the heavens go beyond be spellbound at long last right living
You’re tenuous diminished life will catch space in the raw your life will begin at long last to thaw
Your views will startle and alarm those not yet up to the throttled speed found at every level life should be lived
Adventures have for millennia shown the way over and beyond the darkest expanses victory without flaw
Table your defeated hand speak with dignified power as you break the common tide thou conquer who envisions stars as friends
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
Gloved hands flex in umbra of night
a cot rocks, glittering in the rays of moonlight
baby coos, shaking its rattle
the leathery hands stalk the craddle
finding their prey, the gloves seek the neck
like guillotine, they reap
... they reap
Every idea meets this end
Every dream of mine every prayer
In infancy they glow then glow no more
throttled by shame, they break
chastised by fear, they fade
I would rock them, nestled in coaxing arms, close to my heart
the clock chimes its hour with pride and finality
at midnight, the reaping begins
upon the witching hour, my dreams are snuffed
and nightmares usurp their place.
Is it torment to expect more of myself?
Content to write poetry and leave epic tales of heroes and nemeses to doom and dust?
How many old lovers have I professed my dreams to
how many friends have I bored with my tales
how many family members smiled as I asserted my storytelling chops
only so I could stop, even before the period could halt the last sentence of the novel, thwarting its purpose.
How many heroes clambered upon my doorstep
begging, pleading for me to pen their heroism
How many villains woke me up with their cackling
In the corner, sitting, their eyes glowing in the void of night,
smiling teeth too white
or too black
feathered hats bobbing as their malice peaks
when they hold snaking knives to my throat
and with morbid breath instruct,
"For the love of God..." they say,
"Paint me in a good light, but make my misdeeds known, **** you!"
And I would lay awake, dreaming of these worlds
until the clocks knell
knell
knell
knell
allowing the ebb of time
to wash away my desires, my talents
and the glistening, far-off worlds fade to nothing...
In the end, indeed,
even my mind fades
leaving nothing but a husk behind
and all who knew come to watch
hanging a tombstone upon my rigor mortis neck,
it reads the words,
"He tried, of course he tried
but the devil has his price,
and this poor soul couldn't make rent."
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
The mirror reveals the soul within
It is hazy water filled
In a desert mi raged heart
It is barren
Where whence it was full throttled cherry blossomed, apple cheeked rosy
The mirror reveals the soul within
Scorched embers
Still can see through the branches to a small piece
Not yet scorned
Tenderly aching but still filled with a sense of wonder
A leaf not torn
A branch unbroken, its leaves fall, hoping to dance in the suns warmth
The mirror reveals the soul within
Whose lines tell stories like trees that have grown
There bark is brittled beauty
Born from moments that were swept up like wisps of air
The mirror reveals the soul within
Still standing
Still solemn
Still here.
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 6:04 PM UTC
Exit wounds,
the holes in my hands
that bleed, trickling down
Stigmata,
an offering to God
a rallying call
to arms
I am Adam
biting the apple
the flesh of that fruit
the closest thing
to Hell
(and I am heading, heading there)
they ask me if I meant it
as if meaning means something
more than it does, when words can exist without it
here are the facts of me
(I say)
I have never broken a bone
I don't eat red meat and
I counted out each pill
it would be less ugly
to find me this way
than slit and gaping
in the bath
I was careful (too careful)
the first time
still, you learn by living
from not
dying. Death, I name my
hands
hands that throttled the throats
of a thousand men, the ones
I destroyed with my hips
(that was before)
I knew the taste of thirty Aspirin
this time
this time
this time
I'll survive if they kick me hard enough
if they call my name loud enough
if the doctor writes furiously enough
I am not enough.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
You ain't never had a friend like me
bumping Tupac while we smoke the bud down to the last leaf,
puffing on the roaches out the ash tray
to stay high, watch the nights slip by
fingers raised to the sky, "Die god , Die!"
You need a ride from the scene so I fly
pick you up even if you packed with a four five
Let you piece the last stoge out the pack
and if you got caught up you know I
always got you back, foot on the gas cause I
stay throttled for a homie like you cause you
ain't never had a friend like me.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC