"torturously" poems
Dear Brianna Evelyn Heins,
Stop Spanx sitting me, I’m old enough to take shape of my own.
Sincerely,
You’re Hips
P.S.
Stop convincing the lips to call me flab-u-lous!
I have my own name.
Stop knocking the knuckles to bone
To hear that hollow hound sound, now don’t use me in your measurement references, I want to live a day
Without spinning round the bouncy bands of your operation game
I’ve seen tweezers fall out of your eyes, to plummet under my moon shone complexion
Please keep in mind the brain is a liar.
And well, I have no twins; your pessimistic ways don’t acknowledge my individuality
The color of shame is not moving, while your red majestic
beast hair torturously tickles my clear space of face.
Brianna,
The brain is a liar!
I know you are told you’re observant;
The deception is grand
Stop pretending you know me
Let me dance dizzy
with the calves
Like coming out of the closet
I’m showing you I’ll never be straight
but brains whisper “weep, weep, weepweepweep”
at the sight of the salt soaked, taffy stretched skin
the brain sends me signals, but I beg for the heart to seep in
Please listen up
rarely do I talk,
for you think words are merely a sound
but the profoundness hasn’t shaken
I know you must feel my urges like
I’m on tonight and my hips don’t lie
beauty may lay in the fragile way I sway
said I’m below
But to hell with you
because this bridge can be crossed
but embers fly in you eyes
and the brain is a liar
a family member I wholeheartedly despise.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
Aye, Vladimir, just before I met thee
I hath been sure I hath loved him-
no matter as queer as it may hath seemed!
Thou knowest not, how much tears I hath shredded
and noticest not, how t'eir vanity made me look dead!
But why-why then didst thou appear-
and wokest within me t'is secret fear-
with understanding in thy eyes,
and with a love t'at is to me so dear.
Why-why t'en thou left me, left me again!
Whenst I got to knowest thou but for a moment,
ah, with not so much of an endearment-
afforded ourselves only t'at streak of lovely,
but still weak of too a bond,
or any pact, of young novelty.
And everything was corrupt
As soon as thou re-released me
into t'ese qualms of insincerity
wherest I am still tossed about, guilty.
And hushed, hushed always,
like a trivial, parallel wind!
As though my dear heart's bathed in sin
and of a soul t'at is so thin
So worthy not of thy soulfulness
and sweet dreams of many happinesses.
Ah, Vladimir! If only thou could knowest
T'is thread of passion thou hath sowed
and how my entirety seekest being loved
By thee, and only by thee, o my rain!
As thou art but king to my sneaky moon
and my very own kingdom of stars
Not him-not him, o t'is I entreat,
albeit his wits hath been but to me so sweet.
Still he be a mistake, ah, a chilly autumn mistake
to me, from whom I didst just turn awake.
Probably thou would hath loved me;
imperishably and blindingly,
until all thy superb charms and wit
t'at wert but tortured and unbending
shalt be left within me lit;
and thus leaving our fiery souls entwined
with winds t'at art even sweeter
yet might be torturously everlasting.
Vladimir, Vladimir, oh my only Vladimir!
Thou altogether belongst with me; here,
so unjustly yet heavenly
And in our hands is cherished
our love, o, so wickedly-but fatefully!
How I longst to be thy lover, dearest-
and be so comely as thy only flower;
which ripens thickly in thy winter
and blooms robustly, in thy summer.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
Sexually, the Scorpio man & Cancer woman makes one of the most amazing duo. The Water from both the signs mixes so well, that its serenity & soothing feel keeps nurturing their love. The Scorpio man’s love nature is more intense & yearning than that of most men & hers is more romantic & sensitive than that of most women. Both of them long for a certain degree of security in a relationship which they get from their emotional attachment & enhance with the purity of love making. Cancer female’s heart is almost always turned on by sensing peace & coziness she feels by being held in her Scorpio lover’s arms while he needs loyalty, that he can get in plenty from Cancer lady love. He enjoys it when her heart starts beating terribly fast during the act & her face getting so flush. Most times she wants so much to match his torturously delicious movements with her own, but she holds her emotions firmly. Actually she must let him know how much he drives her crazy & how much she is in love with him. As they become aware of each other’s unspoken needs, their physical mating can be a truly transcendental experience & their ****** union becomes a strange mixture of eroticism & purity. As this is always a very wonderful couple but nothing is actually perfect & to reach perfection some amount of sacrifice is always needed, they must first conquer together their most negative traits: Cancer woman’s baseless fears & possessiveness, Scorpio man’s burning jealousy & revenge compulsion & also their mutual financial caution. If these differences are passed by successfully there can be hardly any Scorpio-Cancer relationship that is ever broken. As both of them are outrageous in nature & tend to retreat into solitude when angry, to have a healthy relationship they should rather openly talk it over to find solutions. Otherwise, a very lovely relationship may end up abruptly, after which they invariably miss each other very much usually throughout their lives.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
One minute
my body is sreaming,
shreiking;
It's deafening,
the roaring inside me.
Excruciating.
It's
tearing
at the seams
it seems.
In that minute
the pain is searing,
scortching,
It's blinding fire raging
and burning
up every bit of me.
It's debilitating.
An angry
sharp,
sore,
stiff,
stabbing,
torturously
unending
pain.
And suddenly
with the magic
of medication
it's becoming
fuzzy.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
Ready sentry
never swaying in a torturously tantric pursuit of love.
Breathing's steady
back to the grind again.
You cannot make them happy but you were not put on this earth to not try.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:21 PM UTC
Swiftly jumping
from leaf to leaf--
scorching--
everything is ash!
Searing, heavy breath hot
sweat pours from hair down the back
to escape the heat
smoke chokes the lungs...
Dark cloud for the world
to see the charred destruction
Excruciating
burns. Torturously slow...
Flesh boiling, melting
pain scabbing stabbing every nerve
survivors see scars as a reminder.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 12:55 PM UTC
Once, an old friend asked me; what would my soul look like, if others could see it?
"A bug," I replied.
To crickets, the mantis is terror incarnate--a fierce behemoth, with knives for hands and without mercy. It is to be respected and feared, it is mighty and dignified.
To a human? A mantis is...
"A bug."
It is the debris among the mud between the treads of your sneakers. It is the gross infatuation, the scientific fascination--it is weak. It is small. It is inconsequential.
I yearn for a life of primitive needs and void of wants.
I yearn for the mantis, seeking only to destroy enough to line his stomach, all in a day's work, back to the safe spot where the "bigger and badder" can't reach you.
Life would be eat, sleep, repeat,
and I detest my self-awareness. I'd rather fail the simple life of a mantis and die without need of fulfillment,
Than to realize I'll no sooner discover what "fulfillment" is to myself than reach it--and to be torturously aware of that,
So very, very, existentially aware.
"My soul would look like a bug."
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
There was a woman once,
a woman on a long trek
through the desert.
She was on a mission,
to find herself
and to BECOME…
the woman her late
beautiful mother
had raised her to be.
This woman was mad,
adventurous, often careless,
and utterly inspiring.
I began to envision
my own life;
my own mission in
that vast desert,
and realized that I too
was striving to BECOME…
to UN-become
all the things my own
mother taught me to be,
for her own twisted purpose,
her own power trip
and narcissistic need,
and draped in convenient
deafness and blindness.
Never did I imagine
the excruciating journey
or detestable, bitter path
this un-becoming
would ultimately be,
for me.
Like a puzzle of
a thousand pieces,
torturously forced together,
whether they fit, or not,
the un-becoming entails
shattering, finally, the mirror
image once created
and wrapped around you
like a paralyzingly layer of skin,
and carving out,
from the leftover,
a new image;
the true image
of who I am…
whomever that may
one day be.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
In and out
Like the glittering tide
Of an endless aqua ocean
Rolling into the beaches side
Kissing the salty sands
With a quietly familiar sound
Slowly and softly retreating back
When relief is found
In and out
This is how I know I'm alive
The feeling of the mountain top
Soaring on a glorious high
As the sun sets bright
In the willingness of my eyes
I live only for this moment
"I'm alive" I breathlessly cry
In and out
Panic setting sail
Rasping at great speed
Silently I start to wail
Torturously out of control
Every second is a million years
Stuck in this icey cave
Filled with all my deepest fears
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 5:23 PM UTC
rainy through the window
he walks.
away from my desperate silence,
away from my wordless
burdened
fears.
torturously, this mindvideo repeats
why didn't you follow? echoesechoesechoes inside
could have;
ran through drops, grabbed his hand, buried into flannel,cried,grazed his face
said things
meant things
he scuffles away through soggy leaves.
quarter-heartedly, my hopes mumble: he will look back.
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 3:58 PM UTC
you will only look for which road i have
passed, with girth of oceans startled
to hip-curve, bow-legged darling
hiding behind pretense of rose frailty.
when words ripen, they fall.
from vaudeville of fools to silence
in all its exactness, i take my place
amongst people in stations, machines
adorning rotundas, courtyards to a flourish of twilight-bells, the men with retinas spry behind cloaks of smoke—
plain, **** drunkenness assaults
the billion-blooded sea, each line fraught
with inebriation: a god is borrowed with
what light fruits from a slow nature, quick
to burst and torturously maimed in stride.
fated to arrive at one morning —
being in total placeness and making merry
once again, the dreary face waiting at
the portico of days collected.
when these words start to wind-hover,
a string of birds will appear clearer,
mounting umbilicus of lines.
as in hounds shear the metastasizing dark,
going back to chagrined kens,
i make truth out of the tragedy:
trace the source of this stream and find
my trampled body, floating with
the sandalwood. when the still, clenched hand clock-punches,
make real the insignia of my arrival:
words start with limbs to cross
this scalped Earth which moves suddenly naked, leaning in, gropes you
in stillness, resuscitating the moon from
the working of insolvencies we rear
in derelicts of days.
drags it closely to ends — left trundling
in woe's wearisome vessel. and if in
this newly thatched home it screams,
let this voice deftly shred
so i may once more lie straight to your
half-illuminated faces, a call i
only hear.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating ****** quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
***************************
All throughout history of man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
***************************
Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, ******
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
***************************
Twenty first century **** Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, ****** outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
***************************
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the ****** thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, ******** indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth ****** animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
***************************
The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male *** mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid ****** unwanted villainous withering zeal!
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC
Memories of that day
A seemingly endless moment in time
Still torturously haunt me
By captivating my mind
The things that were forcefully stolen
Can never be returned
Only replaced with sadistic images
On my soul, they are forever burned
The barrage of hits and touches
Grew invisible by the passing of time
Though the body does not forget
I was seared and branded by their heinous crime...
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
you have to put me back now.
there are always better things to come. she taught me that.
honey i want to lick you clean. from stem to seed. roots and all. meaty juicy mess darling i want you in such sick. wicked ways. torturously sordid. crumbly needs.
babe. dreamer. lover. love freak. freaky love affair…
you just can’t make it ! don’t you try !
getting these silly ideas into the brain space you know you never had. chaotic.
blooming inside me are worlds unbeknownst to you. and when i asked you to ask me questions about my trip. my past. my worlds. you lied down and smoked a cigarette.
as if it were a chore. as if loving me was a chore. caring for my lovesick body.
if i knew how to make a tincture of your scents i promise you i’d never see you again.
woke up toiled and troubled in the sweaty scent of you. your *** still staining my lips. my cheeks. my chin. we had a feast.
and went to bed fevered. desiring. crawling in the sweetness of you.
cradled by the idea of you. our next meeting.
i am somewhat apprehensively coming to you with open hands and a heavy heart. you see, there have been all kinds of adventures hidden in the soles of my feet.
but mostly in the tips of my fingers. ***** under my fingernails. worn wanderers.
passed far far into crevices of non reality.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
I can’t stop writing to you,
About you,
For you.
Every word in every poem,
All my ramblings,
Incoherent thoughts,
They’re all addressed to you.
Something within me thinks you’ll stumble upon them,
Find them by accident,
Wonder if it’s crazy to see yourself there.
I can promise that you are the “you” I keep writing to,
The only one I hope will read my words,
Get the words,
Feel the words,
See me through them.
I’ve been whispering my feelings,
Hiding them in metaphors,
Riddles between stanzas,
Organized neatly and subtly in the lines of my poetry.
I want to scream them.
I want them to be loud and clear and sure,
The way they are in my mind,
My heart,
My spirit.
I am so filled with love for you,
So consumed by it.
I feel like a coward for hiding behind the puzzles I fabricate with words.
I am so afraid the more I feel,
The more I say,
The less you’ll want me.
I’m so afraid that acknowledging your grasp on my mind,
Your place in my poems,
Is a reality you’re not ready to accept.
I’ve waited so patiently for the right time,
Tried so hard to find the right combination of words,
But I don’t know how I’ll live if there is no right time,
If the right words elude me.
That’s a pain I know I can’t handle,
Truthfully,
Regretfully,
Torturously,
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.
Jan 30, 2024
Jan 30, 2024 at 3:01 PM UTC
Mangle, the word alone indicates destruction.
the mutilation of an object until it is unrecognizable,
like the hands of maids in the 1800s.
The mangle has become a symbol of the working class.
An overpopulated, but unheard society.
Forced to work twelve hour days,
running at the whim of the wealthy,
unspoken and underpaid.
Diligently they worked,
sweat dripping from their brows as they scrubbed
the oil from the fabric and their hands,
washing away the filth from previous days.
Two heavy wooden rollers tightly aligned,
crushing spirits of the working class.
Wringing them dry like the sheet on wash day,
torturously expelling water from the already beaten cloth.
Buttons crushed under the intensity of pressure.
Hope dampened at the first attempt,
subjected to a second, if not third round of torture.
Only to accidentally leave an undesired crease.
A dangerous job meant for two,
hindered by the unraveling of a loose thread.
Forced to repeat the process again and again,
until finally, they reach perfection.
I can only imagine the history passed down
through the decades.
Put on display and overlooked
by a generation overwhelmed by technology.
The mangle is now a decoration piece from Grandma,
used as a table to support my coffee.
Its story, like the linen it so helplessly crushed,
a memoir of the working class.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 11:18 PM UTC
My dreams are made of kisses and cuddles
And nightmares of no Mrs and toddles
Reality is altered in a carbonated fizz
But I’m torturously lonely in this vivid whizz
A bizness man is what I dream to be
To be distracted from the love that you have for me
You claim to love me so dearly
But will you leave me one day seemingly seamlessly
I’m 28, but 18 seems so miles away
Thoughts of you got me feeling like (it was) yesterday
Only to live everyday like it was my last (to)day
With fingers crossed for dates on a Saturday
Waking up has me questioning
my existence and hopes of a better ‘morrow
With gold, myrrh, and some kissing in
To never have, and always yearn for more
I always dream for another me
One with love, respect, sense of dignity
Pushing me to a better me
Beyond the ‘mares, dreams, but in reality.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
Refuse surrender to tender milk. So force me to torturously stare deep within your yearning eyes- betray me with saliva once mine as it aches for a lullaby, then beg me to drown you in lust and fill your dripping dew with a hollow bliss.
Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 2:04 PM UTC
Words,
Are the believed truth.
The selfless intentions we've lost ourselves within.
Abhorred by those who don't understand.
Words,
Are the language of our endless thoughts,
Torturously imprisoned if left with no other choice.
So,
Speak to me your sins,
Your loves,
Your pains,
Your means,
And your end.
Spout your soliloquy my direction,
And I would revel in the limitless interpretations of your thought.
Words are LOVE
~Robert van Lingen
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 2:03 PM UTC