"tortures" poems
It's more than just
The lust
That tortures us
It's the trust
We both make
That mistake
And we regret it
With every breath we take
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
If all scars were purple
And all bruises red
And we could pour out
All the pain in our heads
If people were rabbits
And rabbits were dead
And all scars were purple
And all bruises red –
Would people be purple?
Would rabbits be dead?
Is it bruises that **** us,
Or scars to the head?
What is it that tortures us,
Leaves us all writhing?
What makes us stop living
And start just surviving?
What monster pursues us –
What ghastly condition?
The one deep within us;
The sick apparition.
This torturous bubble
From deep in our heart
Wells up, overwhelms us
And tears us apart.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Technique of tortures
Cast iron pain
Crushing blow to the head
Insanity created picture
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
Terra Nullius born from the ashes of colonies past,
from a nation over seas far,
the white cliffs of Dover show their colour,
they reached a land of beauty rich and rare,
they saw and they conquered caring none for those that stood in front of them,
for years this ravaged,
destroying ancient culture,
until a man realised that the land he loved was not his,
taken from him unbeknownst,
he stood in despair,
the system against he fought,
until he died a young man of pain from tortures past,
in his grave he heard the victory he won,
Terra Nullius is gone,
Long live Eddie Mabo.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
Never free
Under pressure of all that see
This weight
Rips and tortures me
In my struggling I just want to be set free
To tell you the true
I’m lost in my dreams
Of course, now you see you will
Never see the true me
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 8:50 PM UTC
One moment we laugh, the next we cry
Invigorating this emotional rollercoaster ride
So slow going up, so fast coming down
Young hearts breaking at the speed of sound
Slapped in the face by the experience of life
Unwarranted emotions of hatred and strife
Roundabout the station we begin to ascend
Straight down then curve as our minds warp and bend
Terror overpowers and tortures our souls
As we reach our ****** of out of control
Attached to life’s rails we’re moving so fast
How long can we expect this passion to last
But nobody wants this ride to be over
It’s all so intoxicatingly sober
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Feeling the box I work in closing in on me during winter’s last gasp,
She has dug in her heals refusing to yield to warmth.
Unmerciful and unrepentant in her bitterness,
she taunts and tortures us all.
Yet, spring birds sing of spring as a lover sings of her man.
The sun struggles to break through the dark grey,
melting away the dim cold
and drabness that surrounds all.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC
There's this voice,
in my head.
She screams at me.
I understand.
She says:
You're fat.
She says:
You're Ugly.
And I Am.
Overweight.
And it's not just a disorder.
Or a problem.
But a Number
That is a statistic
saying:
Obese
Overweight
The Tolerance,
to the treadmill,
That I Regret,
everyday.
And I can't do it anymore.
So there.
Goodbye food.
And anything else.
That tortures me daily.
Like the voice.
Her Name.
Is
Skinny.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
I’m driving on my way home
from a job that doesn’t make ends meet.
Pawned all my gold, silver and chrome
and placed my hat and sign on the street.
I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”
At each red, I clutch at my steering wheel
and scratch my lottery tickets.
Manifest a positivity I don’t feel,
when it scans I hear only crickets.
I’m living in a creative hell,
one that traps and encases me as a shell.
Preventing me from air, society and heat
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you could eat.”
I have no certifications and no degrees,
my only trade and skill are the words that I write;
the gift that both comforts and tortures me,
it’s too bad that no one pays for plight.
I’m living in a creative hell,
voicing it quietly while ringing a bell.
Begging for help but don’t want to be rude
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you had food.”
I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 1:11 PM UTC
You know that I want you. I'm sure of it.
But still the little tortures come.
Your cheshire smile glowing brightly.
Your hand holding mine to your side.
Your unbridled compliments and playful digs
Each with their subtle symptom of love.
But you don't love me. You just love being loved.
And I'm tired of writing poems about you
And screaming to the heavens that I am yours.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
I want to run, run away from this thing called life,
and make my way toward a new me;
a renaissance to believe in and hope for.
I’ve grown impatient with the meaningless days and sleepless nights;
dreams that disturb and work unsatisfying.
Frightened of change, for there is comfort and familiarity
in the desperate misery I’ve become accustomed to.
The uncertainty of tomorrow is beyond my vision,
Yesterday has undone me and tortures me stil.
You were my hope and my future.
Now I must go alone through life’s dark alleys
without your light to guide my way.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC
Some people like fall, but not me.
It's full of death and decay, the gorgeous pieces of fire drift
from their skeletal homes and burn out into
sodden mushy brown paper.
Hard smooth and brown pebbles, spiky holey bombs, and twirly helicopter blades fall from the same skeletons and hide
beneath the paper, waiting for an innocent victim,
lying in the perfect position to slip someone up so that
they lose their bags and packages as they themselves go
slip slide crashing into the ground.
The victims are sure to rise up again, but with some bruises and bits of soggy brown, stuck all over their clothes
In fall, all the blooms of color decease, all fruit and vegetable and good green things die and leaves the world sodden mushy and brown.
Some people say they like winter, but not me.
It's a cold cruel and heartless season, robbing any last trace of life
from all helpless and left-behind creatures.
The vegetation becomes glazed over with melting glass and is the
one spot of beauty, as the only green left resides on prickly evergreens, housebound plants, and the occasional tacky
coat.
In winter, there is no way to leave your personal fortress without mountains of clothes, and so every person becomes a
chapped lipped, red cheeked, stiff fingered puffball.
Every time you jump into a mound of the white fluff that accompanies the dread season, some is bound to creep into your shirt and boots, freezing whatever it touches, and then ever so so slowly flowing along your skin, one of Gaia's little tortures.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:19 PM UTC
Thank Heaven! the crisis—
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last—
And the fever called “Living”
Is conquered at last.
Sadly, I know,
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length—
But no matter!—I feel
I am better at length.
And I rest so composedly,
Now in my bed,
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead—
Might start at beholding me
Thinking me dead.
The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
With that horrible throbbing
At heart:—ah, that horrible,
Horrible throbbing!
The sickness—the nausea—
The pitiless pain—
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain—
With the fever called “Living”
That burned in my brain.
And oh! of all tortures
That torture the worst
Has abated—the terrible
Torture of thirst,
For the naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst:—
I have drank of a water
That quenches all thirst:—
Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground—
From a cavern not very far
Down under ground.
And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said
That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed—
For man never slept
In a different bed;
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.
My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses—
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:
For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansies—
A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies—
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.
And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie—
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast—
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.
When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm—
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.
And I lie so composedly,
Now in my bed
(Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead—
And I rest so contentedly,
Now in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me dead—
That you shudder to look at me.
Thinking me dead.
But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many
Stars in the sky,
For it sparkles with Annie—
It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie—
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
4.4k
How am I suppose to be myself?
How can I be someone I hardly know?
Someone show me who I am!
Someone show me what what I should do!
Someone tell me what I am...
'Cause I can't find myself...
Without you.
My own reflection tortures me
A tortured being staring right back.
Tell me I'm beautiful.
Please tell me you love me
I need someone who can love me enough for the both of us.
'Cause I can't love myself....
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Running.
Running.
Never stopping.
Isn’t that what you want?
Hiding.
Hiding.
Always Hidden.
Did you really think I forgot?
I run and run,
And look for cover.
But still the tortures
Will persist.
They call these dreams?
This, is a nightmare.
On and on..
I don’t want this.
A brand new terror
Every night.
Plucked from my brain,
For the worst of frights.
On and on
My dream recurring,
Peaceful nights
All fade away.
I wake up crying,
No comfort for me.
I pray and hope…
Yet the nightmares stay.
Spiders, heart break,
Those are easy.
Darkness, Pain,
One and the same.
From telling me
Iv been forgotten,
To drowning slow
In acid rain.
I hope one day
They leave my head,
I hate the feel
Of constant dread.
So lets hope that
When again a sleep,
Ill dream of something soft,
Like sheep.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 2:54 AM UTC
by
rgpage
In this quiet time of night, I lie alone and prey to the bitter pain of
joy's absence. Lost in my mind's shallow thoughts the sharp fragments of
happy memories since shattered ***** at the sensitive fringes of my sleep.
Sleep: Nature's sanctuary
A quiet haven, an island set apart
from the daily consciousness of life
where my thoughts may at last run free.
An island with white sandy shores as
far as the eye can see. Blemished only
by my solitary figure walking the blue
water's edge.
And the forests of my paradise, their
deep green density gives substance to
my world. Often I stop to ponder their
far reaching greenness.
The warm subtle breeze carrying the
fragrance of this foliage across my
face, fills my nostrils with the pleasures
of nature.
And occasionally a gull overhead,
drifting unchallenged on the soft
warm currents of the azure, as free
in his world as I in mine; lends companionship.
All of the sudden in the beat of a heart,
from no where a large black cloud appears
to smother the sun's warm light, turning
the blue sky and green foliage black
and the white sand that I once walked
upon a cold gray.
And just ahead of me lying there in
death's humiliation, my winged companion;
soaked and scorned at the dark water's
edge.
I awaken:
This cold room and bed the greatest part of my conscious moment, and the sound of a distant train bell mocking the destruction of my comfort; its havoc upon my sleep done it now moves on. Saddened I once again wade through the shallow bogs of my loneliness, and the pains of memories of the love and life i'd wasted return. This painful sleepless night a most cruel retribution for my past. So firmly entrenched it seems I may never return to my paradise; yet remain in this cold room to suffer the long night's tortures.
Returning:
The warm sunlight, and gentle caress
of the water's pulse upon the white
sand.
And overhead my pure white friend
again drifts on the warm currents of
air, heralding not my return
but praising my presence....
...for my presence alone, gives
life to this warm yet oh so precariously
balanced paradise.
The white beach with its warm sand
leads me on my journey to the morning,
as I walk the blue water’s edge.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
Men of the Twenty-first
Up by the Chalk Pit Wood,
Weak with our wounds and our thirst,
Wanting our sleep and our food,
After a day and a night --
God, shall we ever forget!
Beaten and broke in the fight,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.
Trying to hold the line,
Fainting and spent and done,
Always the thud and the whine,
Always the yell of the ***
Northumerland, Lancaster, York,
Durham and Somerset,
Fighting alone, worn to the bone,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.
Never a message of hope!
Never a word of cheer!
Fronting Hill 70's shell-swept slope,
With the dull dead plain in our rear.
Always the whine of the shell,
Always the roar of its burst,
Always the tortures of hell,
As waiting and wincing we cursed
Our luck and the guns and the Boche,
When our Corporal shouted, "Stand to!"
And I heard some one cry, "Clear the front for the Guards!"
And the Guards came through.
Our throats they were parched and hot,
But Lord, if you'd heard the cheers!
Irish and Welsh and Scot,
Coldstream and Grenadiers.
Two brigades, if you please,
Dressing as straight as a hem,
We -- we were down on our knees,
Praying for us and for them!
Lord, I could speak for a week,
But how could you understand!
How should your cheeks be wet,
Such feelin's don't come to you.
But when can me or my mates forget,
When the Guards came through?
"Five yards left extend!"
It passed from rank to rank.
Line after line with never a bend,
And a touch of the London swank.
A trifle of swank and dash,
Cool as a home parade,
Twinkle and glitter and flash,
Flinching never a shade,
With the shrapnel right in their face
Doing their Hyde Park stunt,
Keeping their swing at an easy pace,
Arms at the trail, eyes front!
Man, it was great to see!
Man, it was fine to do!
It's a cot and a hospital ward for me,
But I'll tell'em in Blighty, whereever I be,
How the Guards came through.
3.1k
I am a soul,not a product
I am a dream,not a vision
I am a start,not an abort
Whether you understand it or not
She stepped out to change consequences
But instead,they changed and ripped her apart
How optimistic was she,
Being the one with a new hope
Struggling hard to find the unnamed answers
Still she bore a smile
But each day she died a while,
Far more than a horrible death
Questioning destiny she still had faith
A faith;that questioned the darkened sight of the human heart
Now the question arises,
Was it her mistake or the hunger of the rapists ?
Thousand similar stories are lying there
Unmentioned and no one to bother
Was it not a social issue?
Was it not a rotten side of a disheartened person?
Sometimes it feels being a girl is a challenge
Fighting,facing tortures,balancing and finally protecting
Yet gaining confidence at each step of life
You can't predict whats' life up to
And no one will step forward to help you
Many people will come,and many people will go
Leaving behind a scar in your heart
But the power,the strength lies with you
Cause you have the utmost power to live your life
Cause you have the power to be fearless.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
The one created for sabotage
Adored by few
Abhorred by numerous numbers
He treads an eternal sorrow
Which tortures his blighted soul
Scheming against ingenious blueprints
His destiny's been read
By gypsy cherubs
He's learned the path
Trodden by none
His predestination
Answering to this heavy burden
His Father has brought a rebellious notion
No other celestial entity has knowledge
Except for him and his apostles
Agreeing to God's earthly will
To be forever cast into a shadow
Agreeing through pure love
For his Father
And sent to tortuous furnace
Unbeknowst to mortals of seraphic Lucifer's
startling sacrifice
God's grievous banishment of his son
For he only aspired
To become like his Father
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
To the men who have hurt me, both physically and emotionally. To the men who have sexually harassed me. To the men who have tried to coerce and guilt trip me. To the men who tried to take advantage of me when I was 15, the lowest point in my life. When I was weak. Destroyed from depression, from bullying, from the transition of middle school to high school, from anxiety, from blind parents and others ignorance. To those of you who knew I was in a ****** up state of mind, who pretended to support me when I was crying, only to run your hand up my thigh and whisper "I can make you forget about it." To the boys who abused me, insulted me, struck me, brought a suicidal teenage girl to the point of destruction. To the guy who didn't quite **** me, but who came close. Who grabbed all over me while I shoved and smacked and told him to stop. Who tried to get inside me without my permission and who tried to guilt trip me, calling me a tease and telling me to lay down and pretend nothing was happening if it really bothered me so much. Who tried to teach me to retreat inside of myself at human contact so I wouldn't resist. To every guy who approached a mentally destroyed teenage girl who was drowning in herself to try to get ****** favors, to try to get me to trade my body for drugs, to try to bring me down even further so I wouldn't say no. Because I did say no. I always said no and fought and nearly vomited every time a guy started groping, started making lewd commentary in what started out to be small talk, every guy that grabbed at me without my permission and leered and tried to grind on me without any context other than you had a hard on and I looked weak enough to force yourself on. I hope someday someone rips you all apart. I hope someone tortures you, tries to blackmail you, coerce you, makes you feel like garbage when you're at your weakest. Because as much as all of you tried, even this fragile, broken teenager rejected you. Fought her hardest to get away from attempted assaults and made it, clawing and screaming away from you. Cried silently as angry, mocking messages came in but didn't dignify them with responses. Ignored angry phone calls from multiple numbers and continued to live, even when you all tried to break me into a *** slave. **** every last one of you up the *** with a flaming ***** I hope you all go through hell. I was going through hell and you all tried to destroy me, to incinerate my spirit in the name of getting someone to touch your ***** I hope you go through worse. I hope somebody castrates you. If there is an almighty deity, I hope they curse you for eternity. I hope you all know that the girl you tried to destroy for your own sadistic pleasure is stronger than ever before.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
Tantalus tartarus tortures through time tremendous
Amber ambition aback at arousal
Menacing mandibles munch my member
Eating eruptions eeriest ***********
Docile delusional damp dame do digest
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
When I see the news stories
And read the vile comments
I’m reminded of my own
And how for him it’s past tense
But for me and for them
It’s every day
We live with that pain and that shame and that
Way of surviving
Like no one ever ripped out your heart
Like your dignity wasn’t stripped from you
Disbelieved in court
Ridiculed on Facebook
And ******* about in bars
‘This tortures him too’
‘He’s always been fine with me’
That’s what we hear when we try to seek
Validation from those who know our abusers
scepticism and the audacity to accuse us
Of being dramatic, of lying, exaggeration
Well tell me where is the dramatisation
In the fact that in my story when he was done
He wrote ‘No’ on my wall in permanent marker
To reminded him that next time ‘No’ is the answer
Like he should need reminding when he heard it from me
But I am a woman, was a girl
So you see
What I do doesn’t matter
Which sadly is proved
When today we read of Sarah Everard in the news
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 9:28 AM UTC
My tongue shakes to the rhythm of the undead
It's useless praying against all that I said
You end up unscarred 0% alive
For people you end up dead just another stone named R.I.P.
No words of apology to help you through
Heaven awaits in vain, as Hell beckons you
Bargaining your life on both hand sides
Hell pays more than what Heaven calls most
Greedy as you are you choose the dark side
Rotting as Satan laughs and tortures you
Came to realize a mistake was made
Fruitlessly awaiting nothing for all the sins you repented
Shackled to doom, your life wasn't yours anymore
You wondered what worse yet was still in store
You beg to my feet to appeal to the Lord
You throw your hands in despair as I see you burn, with glee
Why should I help you when I had been through the same in history?
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
My brain has been torn apart
Crumpled together
And smeared across the billboards of my timeline
My heart shredded and trampled on
My body has seen torments and tortures
That parents fear and
Don’t understand the possibility.
I was told it was my fault.
Every action had its cause.
Every act of terror had its reason.
Me.
But it was never my fault.
I wasn’t the reason I hated this thigh,
Or this skin
Or these bones.
Or this brain
This way of thinking.
Nothing was ever wrong with me.
Oct 20, 2024
Oct 20, 2024 at 4:14 AM UTC
Its a phantom in my conscience
that haunts my evenings often
but is gone when the sun arises
where the tortures remain constant
I am not what you see
these were not my dreams
a cartoon buffoon for you
to point and laugh with glee
This isnt why I did this
I didnt know the expense
I put my heart for all to see
to verify my existence
Trying to exorcise my insides
by the tears that I cry
but it doesnt wash away
the pain within my mind
When most of these people
only see me for my alter ego
they want the struggling of my soul searching
to always remain feeble
So sorry Im untrusting
all I wanted was a friend
yet again when I have nothing
theyre all gone with the wind
Hollow another bottle
heres another *****
be our joker of sorrow
expose your madness some more
Youre here for our amusement
you have a gift so use it
split your personality
give us the one that self abuses
Why are you so quiet?
its not the Jeremy that I know
isnt it time to riot?
where is your red nose?
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC