"torching" poems
Flesh is heretic.
My body is a witch.
I am burning it.
Yes I am torching
ber curves and paps and wiles.
They scorch in my self denials.
How she meshed my head
in the half-truths
of her fevers
till I renounced
milk and honey
and the taste of lunch.
I vomited
her hungers.
Now the ***** is burning.
I am starved and curveless.
I am skin and bone.
She has learned her lesson.
Thin as a rib
I turn in sleep.
My dreams probe
a claustrophobia
a sensuous enclosure.
How warm it was and wide
once by a warm drum,
once by the song of his breath
and in his sleeping side.
Only a little more,
only a few more days
sinless, foodless,
I will slip
back into him again
as if I had never been away.
Caged so
I will grow
angular and holy
past pain,
keeping his heart
such company
as will make me forget
in a small space
the fall
into forked dark,
into python needs
heaving to hips and *******
and lips and heat
and sweat and fat and greed.
17.2k
keep me in mind
when I am hidden.
when I keep myself away,
from the burning light of day.
It's burnt away my nerves,
I can't feel a thing.
Numb to the world,
but feeling in the cold.
I've said it a thousand times,
I'll say it a thousand more.
I'm not the type to laugh,
I'll always shut the door.
So the cold is where I stay,
I can't sleep when it's warm.
I feel myself on fire,
always starting a new war.
Oh sunshine,
please die.
stop mocking my frostbite,
stop torching all desire.
Why won't you listen?
have you no ears?
I've been this way since birth,
I'll be this way for years.
I told you I'm not human.
I'm not the way I should be.
the tundra behind my bedroom door,
it's swallowed me.
Please don't forget about me.
I'm dying to leave.
I'm dying for someone to reach out,
instead I'm dying from greif.
Let's build a fire,
not the kind that kills.
But to melt the ice,
that's been holding me against my will.
Rather, just let me burn.
I'll turn to dust,
I'll drift away,
It's all a deadly lust.
Don't let me run,
tie me tight.
I need the fire,
but I think I might die.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
my heart only knows rage
growing, crawling like wildfire
to which my bones will collapse like lilac twigs;
then again, honey,
we do not burn down with the fire — we become it,
should we fall like witches condemned.
then again, honey,
they do not burn; the fire knows its mistress' touch
and today, we have inherited
all the anger, all the wrath, all the names of the men
she held onto for centuries in her palms.
today, she will avenge
all her sisters lynched and effaced
all her brothers starved and gunned
by the very pigs who swore to protect
and the fire will
creep, engulf, and spread,
torching their money and their abusive hands —
their lying tongues and iron fists
burning in cauldrons
they will burn us in,
and the smoke will rise to the heavens
until all that's left are ashes
from where no cruel man will rise.
and the smoke will rise to the heavens
until justice,
like a goddess,
emerges from a foam of embers.
and the smoke will slowly lift —
so will this anger.
so will this wrath.
and it's the sun itself that awakes
to the promise of a new day.
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 2:31 AM UTC
There was a time when you praised me.
Always looking up to me, now that has passed.
The way you look at me today is nothing but disappointment.
Shaking your head while faking a smile.
Secretly saying the words what the hell happen to her.
I see the snarkness in your eyes breaking me.
I feel the words stinging as you mock and make fun of my goals,
my life,
who I am.
It use to shake me as I pummeled to the ground.
Time has shaped me.
You no longer burn me instead you ignite my fire.
Torching every obstacle in my way.
Leaving you to clean up my ashes in my passing.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
Torching the ozone
The climate changes weather
And we are dying
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
Waters waltz land dancing,
Dragon flies flutter a buzz,
Cat-o'-nines torching tales,
Where beavers are logging
Time with fresh water fish
Who breach as they mouth,
Fly catching in a casted sea,
Mossy and bogged with peat,
And the colours, mottled, fey,
Brindled, brim, know they say,
There are lessons, hear stillness,
Punctuations in the spry singings
Of the never tardy larks, windrous
Riddles ripe rushing through reeds.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
I shed tears
You shed humanity
I dread and fear
Your unstable insanity
You loosen your compassion
Like it's your belt
For it's in your fashion
To inflict welts
On the ground I knelt
Doubled over in pain
From a punishing rain
My eyes welled up and my vision got blurry
I was unable to break your encryption of fury
My mind was in constant examination
Of your gift of violent contamination
Lines were crossed on my back
Living life on your torture rack
You become my God
You never spare the rod
My brother may be able
But I'm on *******
I turned the tables
By torching my brain
On the ****** train
I invented a game
Out of ruining your creation
My veins experienced deflation
Until I saw the error of my ways
Adopting your negative craze
You wanted me to get used to pain
But I'd rather get used to change
The effects of corporal punishment are felt
When society hits us with a conveyor belt
Convincing us if something worked it must continue to
Our childhood experience this is imprinted through
We figure our children must be belted
After our minds have been smelted
Forged in fire
Our hearts retired
As we grew colder
The beaten grew older
And reproduced
And re-introduced
A punishing perception of the world
They beat the clam that holds the pearl
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
exposition of my position
connecting epic art of
scifi legend extraordinare
frank franzetta.
from my back to distant Barsoom
A princess of Mars is my captive muse
to a story of a pale blue dot.
where an archer's bow points
her lady-ship has no censorship
unbiased in crowded eyes.
blinking aeons of information
torching elemental tables
undisguised for public record.
unforgettable this ticking thought of self
Converging lines and tectonic season
Moving over earth with pilgrim miles.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
Let’s not go chasing ants today.
The grass is gone
And dirt won’t burn anyway.
Why not get to work with me
And let your memory go out to the yard to play?
Let’s stay away from the familiar doors
And antique halls
Whose windows open only to walls, anyway.
Let’s ditch the dollhouse unopened,
Still in the box.
You and I have business in the life-sized world.
Bin the old plastic flags,
Still furled in bags, let them go to the ground
In triangles over G.I. Joe caskets.
Stuff your red lunchbox with as many
Kens and Barbies as you can
And let’s bury them in someone else’s playpen.
We should burn that old forest down
Where we used to do magic,
So no one can cut down the trees
And make planks or papers -
Because it would be a ***** to find them,
(Not to mention climb them) but
I suppose you can’t go torching forests.
Still,
Chuck that cigarette in the bushes.
Maybe something will catch.
May 24, 2011
May 24, 2011 at 10:44 PM UTC
I can't see you there but I feel you,
I know that you're near cuz I hear you,
I say i'm not scared but I fear you,
tell me to beware and I still do,
I feel you,
slowly burning me alive,
every exhale surfaced to the skin comes from deep inside,
I can feel you swimming in my mind torching both my eyes,
drilling in a little deeper every time,
feeling it subside just to come back full force and give a rattle to my life,
electric charges running through my body,
faces all around, I can hear em calling,
being hollowed out, now I think im falling,
dropped me underground so they can see me crawling
on broken knees-
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
There are times where I feel like I am worshiped by the sun and the stars,
And then there the times where I only feel their fire torching down everything I am.
I know I am nothing special,
But ****
I'm the ****
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
We sat around a campfire talking
we laughed till we cried
we argued till we were lost
and it was a while before you noticed
the fire burning the marshmallows
but oh how I wished you would notice
the fire burning me
from inside and through
warming me up at first
then excruciatingly torching me whole
inside and through
leaving nothing behind
but a couple of hollow eyes
that wouldn't dare look at you
that sat there staring at our fire
so you wouldn't notice yours.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
in their bed of ash
lavender-grey and sultry
slowly reassemble into
a bed of coals
salmon and fuchsia
stretching
and
torching
the
morning
star
soulsurvivor
(C) 20/10/2015
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
Get to know me.
It’s my most illustrious goal. Feel me, be me. I am you. I have felt and continue to inspire. I am the flicker of flames, torching the atmosphere. Raw. Consuming. Effervescent. Touch me. Be warmed. Be amazed. Be in awe.
My soul cries for understanding. Give me the rhythms of Glass, the complicated interflow of melodies, harmonies that make me sick, that give me wings. I stretch my hands, close my eyes and Listen. Don’t miss this.
Ears. Deaf ears. Be quiet for once. Hear. Hear. Be still and Hear. Nothing you will ever amount to could last as long as this legacy. It communicates without stroke, it astonishes without brush, it intrigues without etch, commanding what the eyes cannot see, what the nose cannot smell, what the hand cannot feel. Thus is the glory of song.
Open your ears, study! Lords are speaking to you. We are their medium of communication.
I sit quietly, enveloped in sound, and as my heart stirs, I’m filled with reflective urgency. As if I must abandon everything and go somewhere, but where? NOW! And yet, I’m immobilized by its warmth… yearning for release.
I’m reminded of the happiest times I’ve shared in my life, and for this reason I listen with respectful awareness of its toxicity. It is both addictive and hateful. Never failing to transport my very being to memories of love, comfort and peace.
And yet… it’s bitter. These are the memories of experiences I thought I once mastered. And as I listen to its echoes I am burdened to re-live the loss, the awakening once again, forever.
I awake to see that all is not what it seemed to be. My world is harsh, rash, skeptical: but absolutely never all the way real.
Hm, a dream. And always knew it. Deep down I knew and still I stifle instinct, ******* experience, and choke doubt. It is mine and I use it to fulfill me.
This song is short, but it commands deep within me feelings of such a range of love and devotion that I’m left frightened, exhausted, void. Could I have had that much to give? Yes.
Let the sounds live through you, and as your heart stirs, know that you are human.
Begin to listen, begin to hear. This lamentation begs for empathy, so rejoice! You are not alone. You are quite human, perfect: alive.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjiUgN0HuPg&feature;=plcp
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
normally
I love
the sum of
the sun,
the summer.
every bleak winter day
I wait for the sun
to kiss me
again.
but today
her kiss
is unbearable
torching my eyes
blazing past my eyelids
radiating right through my core
extinguishing me from within.
every bleak second of today
I waited for the sun
to go
away.
all I wanted
was
some more shuttered seconds
some more blissful blackout
some more ducky dreams.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 6:20 PM UTC
I was a soldier of Rome
and my thoat is now split open
Split it was by a Gaul
Fighting to destroy the Republic.
I hope the earth is nourished by my blood
And life grows from it
For so much has been lost
In this senseless slaughter.
Do they not see the light of Rome?
Civilizations luster?
We bring fire to the shadows of the world
To cast them aside, tear them asunder.
Our cause is just, our will cannnot be stopped
The world shall be roman
We bring justice and order!
My sword may decorate the ground
And my armour my lifeless body
Behind me marches the strength of legions
From it ten more will take my place
For victory! For glory!
I was a warrior from Gaul
Sixteen springs alive
Cut down in my prime
To defend my home
From Rome´s thrist for land
They come forth from beyond the mountains
A ravenous, barbarous horde
They loot, and **** and pillage
Torching everything they touch
Can they not see our life is just?
And it is peace, not man, who governs this grooves?
We live, we love, we grow
They tend to their business and we to ours.
Yet they now come
And my body may give life to the forests
And from the forests forth shall spring my brothers
To **** For victory and glory!
I am a crow
I shall feast on them both
Life shall indeed spring forth
The maggots
The flies
And many, many more of us.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 6:46 PM UTC
The stars' reflections flicker within daring eyes,
The poetics of nature linger within my fleeting guise.
Cigarette lips making me feel like I'm alright,
Begging out the best version of me tonight.
Proudly bringing this moment to it's crisis',
Free in the grasp of golden irises.
Torching the remnants of my minds manuscripts,
Warmer than the feeling I find between your hips.
Forgetting time and just thinking of you and me,
Because by morning I don't know who I'll be.
When I become a prisoner of my own indecision,
And confidence becomes subject to a hundred private derisions.
I'll pry and **** upon words that mean something,
Analyze until they're reduced to sweet nothings.
Meekly **** all traces of nerve and boldness,
Leaving only memory of a temporary indulgence.
That for you will soon hastily forget;
But I will hold as a lovely regret.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC
not one person knew who lit the fire
at the old pub in the town's main drag
it will remain an unsolved piece of inquire
who on that night used a burner's tag
back in the year of nineteen fifty three
the watering-hole went up in flames
from the locale an arsonist did so flee
after playing his match striking games
a shadow some of the locals have seen
where the timbered hotel once stood
hovering around like a ghostly screen
this figure is an omen not of the good
if it could speak what would it ever tell
in regards to the starting of the inferno
which was like a flammable torching hell
one but surmises about events long ago
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
Others can be good
Let me be this
Pathetic scrawls
In a notebook
Let me play again with my
Deamons
Let them take
Over
Let them swirl in the night
Like my tongue in this stale beer
You haunt me with my own impotence
I spend the days trying hard not to regret, trying to forget
But I am lost and confused. And it's not you.
This is me
Without a lover to have and hold
This is me in a restless frenzy
This is the needle
This is the sound of your laughter drilling at my chest.
This is the hit in a bathroom stall
This is my heart cracked open like a walnut.
It is not you
This is me reaching out
in the dark
For the the green of your eyes
This is my sickness
Love like the hot breath of a beast.
Love like a nasty stickiness on my skin
Love like dancing goblins around a burning stake
Love like a dry heat
The sun torching the sun
The sun torching
Icarus'
Wings
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
Firewater
Inferno raging
Burning up
Fire twisting
Scorching
Torching this palace down
Nothing but ashes remaining
A remnant of a scorned lover
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 5:45 AM UTC
i kiss, the nape of your neck,
while you still sleep
and inhale you.
spearmint, sandlewood
and citrus combined
with clean sweat.
you stir and roll over,
you are healthy
and in your prime.
more than my heart stirs, more than your heart, responds.
your lips, meet my skin
for the first time,
allover again.
i am drawn...
like moth to flame .
i am before you,
barely, contained,
but your teasing,
tendril,torching, tongue
scatters me to
richochet,
without
thought or sense.
my lips seek
the curve of your
collar bone and neck
as if to feast
upon your soul.
my hand behind
your head holding,
kneeding, that spot
on the top tip of spine
that makes you growl.
our desires grow deep,
our arousal complete,
we move,
to connect our hips
in early morning,
grinding, greeting,
i quiver,
as you,
rampant,
touch my lips...
....and our son
begins to wail and sob.
we break,
with regret.... unrequieted.
i go to see to him,
you, to a cold shower.
our day begins,
with love and frustration.
but then,
there is always, the art of...
delayed gratification.....
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Started using again,
Left my heart on a front porch just outside Louisville like a spare key, drove home 200 miles with powder burning in my head, igniting and torching the highway, the cliff faces, the forests and all
All of that wildlife with no place left to go,
I will return to this when I'm ready, I say
This just got to be too much, I say
I just need to sleep this off, I say
Started using again,
Built these lies into a jail cell, turned a key and dropped off like nothing was ever there
Built these words into a vehicle, turned a key and drove off without a word
Started using again,
Quarantined for the better, stenographed prophecies into the past so that I could realize them now and feel like I've achieved something
Started using again,
Forgot about it except in between sleep cycles, the details gone only the patterns manifest, trace the curvature and find a reason, fall asleep, forget again
Started using again,
Slow it down, take it all in by pieces,
Breathe in the fumes, feel the head rush
Don't get ****** up,
Take the edge off and don't **** yourself with it
Started using again,
It's all in the comedown, the clarity, the doom on the walls and the tar in the lungs,
It's out of my hands, I will seek no forgiveness, I only ask for understanding
Started using again,
Depart in the morning before everyone wakes up,
Have some coffee, a hot shower,
Do not be afraid of today,
Fear forever, fear your own head,
Then find your spine, unlock it and teach it to stand on two legs,
And walk out of here, and don't stop for anything
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
A hand that was ****** by the untouchedness of her life.
A hand that had just too many crevices,
Because she never opened them.
She was always seen with clenched palms in the streets.
She sat in the dimmest corner, every day joining the dark a little more.
Her hands were moist, tender and almost a liquid,
With the years of the sweat that had finally copulated with the blood, flesh and the phalanges in her palms.
She really,
Never opened them!
She was born with a fist.
She never did any work with her hands.
She choose to be one of the sisters of the fist.
Practised by the moonshine to
Spread a tad bit more pleasure.
Or despair.
Or pitch dark moans of the holy communions.
She walked with the drunken sweaty silhouettes of the watchmen at night.
They never knew her by body.
They knew her as the torching darkness that gorged the light on their paths
In voluptuous silhouettes.
She curled next to them on their shabby beds through the night.
They never knew the stranger strangles of the nightmares they had …
Every night.
To them, dreams did not exist.
For all she did was to appear in them as a rage or vendetta,
Amidst a chore in the daylight.
They vent it all on the shiny awls to ******* the green meadows.
And then, go back to sleep,
To be in the shinier brace of an dismembering nightmare,
She copulated evermore.
They never knew they were pregnant with her potent ejaculations inside. Well, every man is if you ask me,
one of the ...
daughters of the Sisters of the Fist.
They never woke up to her.
They never found her on their bed.
Their streets.
Or on the semen-dried poles in their taverns.
But she always accompanied them.
Perhaps in the sudden whiff of a fragrant **** that lingered in their sweaty cribs in the morning.
Or in the whiff of the ***** from over their shoulders,
When they wrote a plagiarised letter to their new sweethearts.
No.
She appeared only when their nightmares resurfaced. In the broad daylight, between the walls, breathing through the claustrophobic walls that are one within her.
Whenever they shed the blood of another,
A burp of yesterday’s nightmare,
She appeared.
And faded.
But dissolved.
Sisters of the Fist are undying,
The daughters born to the dark,
Are the fists of the dark.
Since the beginning of mankind.
Till the end of another race.
To be the purpose.
To impregnate the bittersweet elixir of Evil,
To every living soul called a man.
If waking life is a death noose at the neck of a gurgling volcano,
then you might as well close your eyes and enjoy the evil delicacies that the sisters of the Fist will consume into you.
Yes, consume into you …
Till the day you die,
And become one among them.
On the day after your death.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
Ringed by a tall, told wood,
A meadow pond dearly stood,
Deep and dark, the branched lands
Of childhood reaching to forever,
Throughout the growing seasons,
Rich in pines, bane ivy, hemlocks,
Naked columns of the freed bark,
To shelter the treed imaginations
Of running youth, where creatures
Became fabled to the wide open
Eyes tearing into the overgrowths,
Heading by the shudders of caul,
In the shades of the woody owl,
Greatly horned was the sly song,
The never present wails of cold, lost
Nightingale nor snout of woodcock,
Camouflaged in the browned leaves,
The gracing sun smoked in the morn,
And flamed forgotten in leafy eves,
In the needled myths of the roaming
Creatures, the dandy pheasant struts,
The brawned hind in the foraging doe,
Painted turtles, helmeted above ripples
Of parapet stone in soft water breached,
Sparking stars reigned with swirling fireflies
And glow of moon, as ever appeared, shook
The playful fear within, without, belongings
Of the child who spun his own tales, so held,
This, then was begun paradise in a sleepy waterlog
Of vale, outward from the shadowlands of creep age,
Kept, for daze, won, dreamed, in the torrid torching
Stalks, sunlit hold, the flash of painted face, knotty
Brilliance set free, the unmatched strike in reeds.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
A chase after the wind
Looking bigger than the eyes can see
An uncontented feeling of always wanting
Torching further than his hand could reach
A malicious desire to be above all
Crept into his heart
Unsatisfied with silver
He throw it off
And he rushed out for gold
Which turned to be attainabe
Restless nights and tormented soul but
Kept on looking for more
But forgot he already had it all
Maliciously controled
He felt in a deeper pit
Which he couldn't save himself
The maliciouse feeling drift away with the wind
Left alone with a tormented soul
With a single desire left within him
To give up the ghost
As he hopelessly raised his eyes *****
A spark sprung in his eyes as he saw
A crowd of friends rush up to him
To rebeat his fading heart.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 8:55 AM UTC