"trachea" poems
i slipped the silk fabric over the curve of my hip and the scarred flesh of my thigh in a dressing room with three of my friends behind me, ******* in the fat of my stomach. they say black is supposed to be slimming but it only made me bloated; maybe the mirror was a liar (i know it didn't lie). an elephant with too-thick eyeliner and a too-thick body stared back at me and i bit through the skin of my lip till it bled and i wanted to live on some other planet where elephants were appreciated.
"that's the best one you've tried on yet," someone said, but i couldn't hear them over the red-eyed demon within me which whispered of shoving two fingers down the trachea, messy but quick, everything gone in an instant. if this was my best one, i was doomed because my eyes were glazed over with the misunderstanding that beauty would never apply to me.
"i'm just gonna go- go to the restroom-" and the red eyed thing inside me cracks its whip, takes over the nerves in my brain, makes my legs sprint to the toilets and it's over, it's done, the food gone among stomach acid, falling hair, and teeth erosion.
i can only imagine what the restaurant worker who was forced to clean rainbow-coloured ***** in the toilet thought.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
My skin has been itching for three months
I’m not sure why this is addicting
I’ve crashed a car in my head 3 times today
My mental awareness consistently letting go of the wheel
The Anterior teeth of my mouth have started to yellow in disapproval
I’m not sure why this is satisfying
I’ve been taking toxic psychotropics in light doses more than twice a day
It’s warmth is comforting as the jittering and hyperactivity become null
Bags have formed under my eyes
If you were to open them, their roasted smell would overpower you with stimulation
Constantly on my toes for risk of Insomnia and Narcolepsy
I’m not sure why this is outstanding
Adrenaline is being forcefully factored into my body
If this is the bullet, I’m biting it after an appliance pulls the trigger
As the high passes, it ripples through my mind
An otherwise calm sea, tidal waves pound the shores of my subconsciousness
Vacuum sealed can are filled with awareness
Sleep has become a rare odyssey
Warm comforters are replaced with long trachea trips of boiling beans
I’m not sure why this is alarming
Double trips become tripled and troubling to my mother
Arguments over the hours I shall harvest from the night are increasingly frequent
Slow to roll out of bed in the morning
I don’t hit my carpet, I splash into sugared preparedness
In my backpack hides a cup full of GI Joes
I’m not sure why this is troubling
If anything, I’m drinking a medicine that prevents death by 10-15% for 13 years
The New England Journal of Medicine was happy to acknowledge my existence
Till they announce anything different, you’ll find me taking a mud bath
I’m not sure why this is disgusting
Tell me everything that’s wrong with it
Because from where I’m standing
There is nothing wrong with
Coffee
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
Grime-caked fingers digging into
An infant’s innocent eye sockets
The chubby little **** shouldn’t be wearing that locket
No tears run their course down its soft, pink epidermis
But one could bottle up
The slightly thinning blood
Into a small
Thermos
I told that **** to get an abortion
My ******* ***** deserves better than her
I can’t stand the scent of baby lotion
I’ll go fishing with its flesh as lure
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
The wailing, ****** howl dies down
When the child’s trachea is crushed
By some hand-me-down, rusted hammer
That turns its body to mush
One could still see the baby’s frozen face
Open-mouthed and purple-blue
Spinning around the unwashed blender
With the previous night’s food
I told you to get a simple abortion
My ******* ***** deserves better than you
You better coat your putrid *** in baby lotion
And have some mouthwash ready, too
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 8:48 PM UTC
In a forest, where bird songs are silencers to a pistol and their feathers are scattered hopes, like broken dreams are to fantasies, I sit.
I stretch my arms, wide enough to fit grief and happiness in my muddy hands that I use to bury unspoken apologies and eulogies for days I have not yet lived.
I begin to stare aimlessly at the sky trying to spot the night moon. Its silhouette, that I trace with my finger.
I've drawn
And in the folds of the night, I hold you close
like day does dawn.
I let your depression stain my cheeks and see it drip between the gaps in my teeth,
sting my gum,
and so your language interweaves itself upon wounded scars on my tongue, so when i return back home, i return with the same cuts identical to your tongue that you hung
I don't want to sound too much of a stranger to you when I talk thus tonight, I’ll choose to tie happiness to things that have asked for no such burden
and stictch my lips silent to silence our silent violence.
My eyes bounce back at the hazy sky as if it’ll tame your inner broken and mould it into a less wild creature
more civil, more mature
less aggressive, less of a spirit
Your spirit appears in the bezels of my mind
my trachea catches fire burning deep into my whines ,
my breath disappearing into a silent hymn in the dull light
and watch my tongue chameleonize into a trillion hues of white
until my tongue becomes a graveyard for all my white lies
Until pain becomes a part of my diet,
until I'm able to chew the residual images of a broken girl, until her sadness becomes the air I breathe
until her inner warrior becomes the battle field never fought in
until I'm able to swallow sadness when chugged down my throat,
until I'm able to befriend your wild.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
End,
The True Tip of my Tongue,
(Enchanted Bronchial Tree),
holding out the
Cavern of Soft Sultry Silhouettes
that hug the walls.
Clinging to their influence able nature,
tendency to allow pink purity
to fall
to the black blistering blasphemy
of dirty-watered bongs.
Inhaling the Damnation of god
And Magic Meal of
Those residing in Gehenna,
Limbo,
And those scouring the pearly whites of
heaven for their 72 ******
***** Calls.
The desperate stench
Of religion
crawling down
my needy trachea
to attach its
sticky suction cup sermons,
trying to trick
My larynx into
Hallelujah’s
And
Hail Mary’s.
Hoping repetition
will etch it into
our subconscious
like a gravestone
set in stone.
So repent,
saunter back into your pen little sheep.
False Anarchic Prophet,
Pretend Goat.
Throw your brain back into the box,
The Individuality Dishwasher,
They built for your mind from the
Start.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
I hope you choke on the names of our would be children
when it happens to cross into your thoughts
the few nights you don't sink into bed ****** out of your mind
I hope you ***** down the hallway thinking of me
I hope you never make it to the bathroom on time
I hope your stomach acid burns like a ripcord up your trachea
You told me no one had good ***** like I did
And he said it, too
Every last time I cheated on you
Just remember you betrayed me first
Told me to **** someone to put equality back into the universe
It's sad to say I did it out of spite
I could have been loyal
Instead we let each other become driftwood
burning blue and green
and floated away without a fight
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
It burns me up inside
How together you appear to be
I know my own temperament
It’s magmatic, though its not what you see
Like a scorpion, it stings me bitter
The poison spreads into my eyes, trachea
Like a starfish surviving on the shore,
I deny my slow death and call upon my inner mafia
I fight myself away from the border
Right by there, I see you cope
A concentration chamber, my mind has become
I burn like paper, letting my ashes elope
With the itsy bits of rubble remaining
Somehow I awaken, with a brush and pan
I kneel and scrape, dust and cleanse
To become a phoenix and rise from my death again.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
I'm ruptured whole and am considered
inadequate
as my
amygdala slides through the trachea drops to my ventricles falls through the aorta plunges to my diaphragm hits the esophagus crashes to my phalanges. There is no hope.
May I hold something over your cranium?
May I remind you of your neuron imbalance? And yet
you sit and
watch as
my septum separates from the left atrium from the right ventricle from the bicuspid from the tricuspid from the pulmonary semi-lunar valve.
I love you. (Stupid cerebral cortex.)
I love you. (Imprudent Broca's area.)
I love you. (Hopeless frontal lobe.)
I love your nonfunctional mind and functional soul and
Well
this is all a metaphor for unrequited love.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
a liar once told me that i write good poetry
i laughed and continued drinking,
the sudden rush of despair, the wicked beast, the dry pages
the man had no credentials
but he persisted, declaring me an inspiration
like seeing a strand of hair attract a magnet
or amber jewels lolling in a dimly lit case
imagination is a felony, i wagered as i poured another
a combustion i know like the back of my hands
i told him i dreamt of a morgue where everyone i ever loved
sat upright as sunflowers, declaring their love for the sun
and of a newspaper rife with disease and the passion of a janitor
there is a raccoon near a river somewhere cleaning an apple
with a heart as big as an artist in drunken euphoria
taking better care of it than me when i sit down at a typewriter
it's wearing a cape just like edgar allen poe
and having better conversation with an oak tree than i've ever had at a party
about the sunday crossword puzzle he completed
yesterday i drank myself into a masquerade ball
arriving in a limousine being driven by a bearded mickey mantle
i was the guest of honor, sword fighting on table tops
and lecturing the guests about shakespeare through a garbage disposal
while a horse played backgammon with my father's brother
and there was a girl there behind the facade of an owl
who danced like the wind and everlasting light
and no one could stop her or look her in the eye
i am the only connection between my mind and the paper
merely a vessel, a john boat clearly breaching it's depth
either drowning like a fish in a sand dune or
being bounced like a baby on the knee of god
slavery, i call it, and hand him a glass of warm bourbon
as the splashing of my journal pages slap my crushed trachea
the typewriter is padlocked and painted over with cement
the metamorphosis trapped inside a bullet, boiling with sheer fury
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
I’m at work
Buzzing to get out of there
Out of the fluorescence
And the din of screaming children
As it downplays the howling heads
Of their mothers who
Dream of their children’s exposed
Necks and getting out of the grocery store
Before it starts to rain.
I am Bobcat Goldthwait
underneath
The large hanging lamps,
pale green as barge lights
I make little sounds with my lips
And tongue, little incoherent sounds
To push the time forward .
A man comes through
My line holding a beige patch
Of cloth
Over his exposed trachea beneath,
with a voice like he crushes cement
puts it in his coffee
and ***** it up through a fiberglass straw.,
He drops some
Toothpaste and a brush on the counter
And says to me with that mutilated
Voice:
“there are only two types of *****
Big old *****
And old big *****
His skin is blotchy in the cheeks
like the husks of craters seen from the sky,
and the corners of his mouth
are dry and cracked
snaking and splitting outward like dry riverbeds.
For a second I want to laugh so hard,
That people will think I’m crazy, and
Maybe one of the twitchy managers will have
Me committed.
If he says any more, it’s this:
“You’re young, enjoy it,
if you worry
About the fuckups now,
you’ll Be worrying
until you’re an old ******
and that doesn’t do you any good,
***** hates the old **** ups.”
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 10:42 PM UTC
betrayal is the beginnings of pure agony and heartbreak. betrayal is the feeling of loneliness inside your stomach, clawing and ripping, letting the acid into your blood stream. it burns. and aches. betrayal is the sensation felt when a dagger is placed ever so delicately against your back and then proceeds to be rammed into your spine, paralyzing you with misery. these daggers shoot at your closed wounds, reopening them, re-exposing them to the cruelty of the world. betrayal is the feeling of a hand wrapped tightly around your trachea, restricting your breathing and forcing you to just sit back and take it, and let it happen, because there's nothing you can do about it except take the excruciating pain and close your eyes. time cannot heal betrayal. time cannot replace the damaged inflicted by betrayal. regardless of forgiving, betrayal is permanent.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
Jacques and Emile's veins
pounded in their skulls
as they scrambled down the ladder
and through the labyrinth of sewers
to rejoin their fellow assassins
beneath the Parisian thoroughfares.
They'd tracked the **** Captain's moves
for past a week and knew precisely
what he drank and where he ******
They were ready when he
Stumbled down the brothel stairs.
When Jacques stepped left for a clearer shot
he found a bucket with his foot.
The German wheeled and spotted them -
raising his whistle to his mouth,
but before he had a chance to blow,
A silent report from Emile's rifle
crashed into his trachea
And he crumpled like a rag.
Back in the tunnels
Jacques bragged like a circus barker,
"You should have seen the look on
Gerry's face before we brought him down."
Emile had seen his face alright,
but thought only of the whistle
that would have doomed them all.
What do you when the world goes mad
and **** tanks roll into the Champs Élysées?
Who do you **** and why and how?
Jacques was sound asleep
and deaf to his comrades' whispers -
pondering what to do and when.
The decision came quickly and a
different sort of mission was planned
and Emile selected to execute it.
What do you do when the world goes mad?
August, 2013
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
The promises you made
Above my grave
Seeped through the soil
The sky flared
Outlining your heart
Orange
Red
Green
Bleeding
Your tears fell to rest
On my skeletal tongue
Satisfying my dusted trachea
Morbid Moons
Dancing throughout
The Lilac sky
You've been here too long
And I believed every promise
That you sowed in my ribcage
So take what's left
Of my pressurized heart
Take your Lilac dipped lies
Tie them off
Sell them to another lover
Before morrow ends
Take my pen
Cast it out to sea
If only so it will bleed
All of the truths
That you never confessed to me
And I to you
Because isn't that what's best?
Sugar coated lies
With honeyed eyes
And frayed rays of sunshine
Goodbye lovely
I'll see you another morrow
Once Apollo rises
And once Ra sets
After Luna shimmers in the sky
I'll wish you away
From the base of my grave
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 1:01 AM UTC
The future has razor-sharp
edges, swiftly cutting
bright red wet and ugly scars.
The past is a blunt knife,
dull and rusty
and I'm being stabbed
and stabbed
and stabbed.
I am stuck in the
present down on my knees
swimming in blood and saliva
with dry tears streaming
down my face
unable to catch a breath
choking on misery
nails dug deep into
my skin
and I am screaming
but no one can hear
and I want to rip
my trachea out and chop
my lungs and eat my heart out
and pull out all
those miles of intestines;
I want to flay my skin
and lay it out for you to
see my scars.
I'm a grotesque of
days long gone
of days that reign
of days that soon will be.
I am the monster you created,
you Dr. Frankensteins,
I am your masterpiece,
I am what you made me
but you won't leave me be.
I know it's called "the present",
but God help me, it's simply not a gift.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
I'm going to love you like the floorboards do. I'm going to touch you like your bedroom walls never could; lay your forehead against me like the shower wall and try to recount every lie you ever told laying down. Your nails will hold me against the headboard in a dark act of crucifixion; I have been dying of your sins since before I understood that they were not the kinds that I should love, and perhaps this is not the kind of love that ends well on glossy pages but it is the only love I know. I was a nearly dead stray on your doorstep and you fed me pretty words from your hands like you knew how to take care of things that had no home (despite having never had one of your own). You know too well how your name sounds when your hand is on my knee, you know too well how your name sounds when you are coaxing the life out of me, as though my trachea were the back door of your apartment, and you know how deadly you are with a look on your face that burns like the candles in a chapel but never melts - I sit vigil over your dead body but your ghost is always touching me, you are always bringing out the worst in me and stretching it out like sheets over a ****** mattress and I cannot take care of myself and I am incapable of breathing until you are watching me.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I press the scalding hot washcloth against my face while it's still soaking wet and inhale. This is what it feels like to drown. I think about your eyes, how they are so dark, like solar eclipses and I think about how your nails leave crescent moons in my heart. This is what it feels like to fear. In a dream, your weight is resting on my neck and you tell me to tell you that I love you, but the minute I open my mouth, my throat is filled with butterflies and my trachea snaps. This is what it feels like to love. I take off my black lacquer polish and I can't hide the blood under my fingernails anymore. This is what it feels like to know. Your mouth touches my face again and again and I cannot break away to take a breath and I am overtaken by the sweetest darkness. This is what it feels like to die. This is what it feels like to drown. I am drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning dro
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
Derelict
Veins cauterized by the voracious disease that is humanity
Pulsing energy like that of a dying super nova
Wound down into a psychotic point
Of reassimilated matter
Clawing desperately at choking trachea
**CANNOT ******* BREATHE**
Send soldiers!
Briefly examine damage
No options left, radical radiation annihilation
This is a call to war
Stage set, ongoing fight to keep alive
Daily being ***** for more and more
THEY ALWAYS WANT MORE!!!
Ripping. Clawing. Grasping. Devour
Full of their synthetic poison
I can still do it better
Revolt
Predictability has never been in my nature
evil laugh
So begins the end times for megalomaniacs bent on destruction
Tsunamis, Tornadoes, Earthquakes
I.
Will.
Prevail.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
A year made of losses
Stitched together with a shaking doubt of my goodness
How could I know it at the time
All the tears cried this rotation of the earth
Watered wildflowers gasping in my lungs
We aren't choking anymore
Growing up my trachea reaching for gold plated tongues
Flourish out of my cheeks and ripen the acid air
Now I spit petals onto the ground
Do the humans love me?
Do they love me not?
I don’t care anymore
The flowers love me
They made me a poet
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
The lies choke me,
constricting my throat with their icy tentacles.
Vines riddled with thorns,
twist and scrape inside my airway.
Blood running down my trachea
pools in my lungs,
Each burbling breath
a disturbing reminder of the webs I've woven.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
an old friend of mine
keeps paying me visits
in the early hours of the
morning when the dogs bark.
she is here now,
swirling her pale finger through
my hair, trampling mud through
my trembling synapses.
she traces over my scars, smiling
she reels the shrieks out of my trachea
she carefully collects the tears from
my jawbone and adds them to her murky hourglass.
i try to tell her i can't
play now, i have things to do,
but we both know that itself
is the reason for her visit.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
Track my blood as it explores my veins,
Breathe my breath as it escalates through my trachea,
Close your eyes as I close mine
And forget to see,
Because I no longer want to see you.
Screech of unwieldiness!
I searched but did not find,
I tried but did not succeed.
You used me for fleshly fulfillment,
And I used nothing but your gentle caress.
You, quasi-embodiment of yourself!
How dare you ignore me now?
And my eyes still dare to embrace your body in amor.
Mi amor, te has ido,
Pero en este mundo de imbeciles,
Prefiero tu imbecilidad a la de cualquier otro imbecil.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 7:55 AM UTC
hello
bitter,
sweet,
secrets.
Impeach the president.
Sentiment is evident.
I never meant you any harm.
Said the weapons company,
supplying those arms.
Put a lid on it tonight,
fliladmites.
You can't harm me either,
I believe in beauty within the eyes of the receiver.
I'll blow away your limbs.
Second guessing the atoms patterns.
This track here (trachea)
crush your adams apple.
bite it judas,
move past the eden garden.
I'm hardened like solidification
Vindication evades me.
In a daydream,
they seem,
so lazy.
Pay me for the time spent dropping bombs on then tombs of family tree.
Gravity brings me back to earth,
and the drill takes me underground to the burial grounds.
I'll lay flowers around your decrepit eulogy.
It never bothered me before.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
I am a hexagon
with a tail
glowing
when you inhale
down the trachea
I go
teasing
my trail
quid pro quo
I split in two
and enter into two
pleura-covered chambers
and this is where
I might cause
unpleasant dangers.
I dissolve
on the membrane
of vitality
and tickle
the red cells
providing warmth
to reality
I leave red puddles
in a white desert
and I make kin care
with grueling effort
The core pumps
scarlet liquid
through upper
and lower
sections
It splits me
carries me
in all
different
directions
I end up
in the cortex
I alter
gray matter
I fumble
with your strings
I am the annex
of your receptors
I am a helpful
benefactor
I control
your flow
of information
your hunger
and your memory
in return
you are
worry-free
I make you happy
to be
I am THC.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
Drip drop
One tear two tear
Drip drop
One puddle two puddle
This **** is getting old
Tears falling on the inside of my face
Too shy to show their face
Yet the reopened scars on my wrist
Dance nakedly in public
Drip drop
My tears drip
Into the depths of my throat
The feelings all but pleasant
Choaking and coughing
Of every one that pelts my trachea
Drip drop
My blood drops
Creating puddle after puddle
I'm afraid to even look at my feet
Because I know their all overflowing
They say blood is thicker than water
Yet they dance so elegantly together
When their the ones that are drowning me
All because I'm afraid you'll say its my time to go
Pack up my **** and hit the road
Drip drop
It's kind of annoying
I'm glad I only have a few seconds left
Till the facet in my veins and tear ducts
Finally close themselves
Or the water company realizes I'm not paying the bill
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
When these guns salute
they’ll need roses
when the metal pops,
stemmed from the truth until the last petal falls off,
but theres no romance in the commotion of the outspoken,
left broken torso twisted into specific yoga poses,
body’s go missing of the scene like a mystery, it’s hocus pocus,
This is a cold one (cauldron) it’ll get mixed until the remix surfaces,
on track here to defeat your purpose,
crush the trachea so you can’t breathe,
they got no Eyedea (idea)
Everyday, this is one of the seven deadliest, akin to a swarm of locusts,
they lose focus in the colloquial informality of the death chosen,
expose fossils fools (fuels) make them leave earth like a Diplodocus,
awoken from a deep sleep with deep heat to the exposed wounds,
so many bodies left in old tombs we gonna be needing some more room soon.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC