"tylenol" poems
It's hard to have a Good time,
When your hands cold, soar throat
And Your nose is running away slow....
But these sick days though
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
The silent assassins came floating down,
Tiny but deadly they came.
Two thousand dead mice,
Stuffed full of Tylenol,
On the island of Guam they deplaned.
To **** off the snakes
That are killing Guam’s birds
Tylenol should do the trick
A mere 80 milligrams
Can **** a grown snake
Or at least make them terribly sick.
I hope this works better
Than the Mongoose Brigade
We deployed on Hawaii’s fair shores.
They were sent to **** rats
But instead took long naps
And the birds are more rare than before.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
sunscreen , wet cement. i taste sweat
at the collarbone crevice below yr neck. all of us
hot spring eyes , pussing blisters bleeding down
naked heels. it's ******* hot here in the shade
of heaven. i want off the ride
popping pimples at the bathroom sink
yellowing from the blood , from the dirt we
pick up by touching each other
but i run the tongue , baby, the whole
apartment smells like a bath bomb. i need
to burst open beneath your mouth, slice the grape fruit in
thin pieces. imagine the day when my hair grows back:
then we'll know suffering has learned to love the space
under the bed
where our bodies used to be
so in this night terror
i play the fishnet stockings of a long
legged woman. struggling against
them, you drown between my thighs
like this. we squirm in the humidity of the night
like this.
then in the next,
i go missing at a family party and you look for me,
i'm waiting to surprise you in a childhood closet, i'm in
the kitchen washing dishes so you get to put yr hands
around me. the world knows i'm in love with you so no one
will complain.
and every terror begins as gentle as this, when
you round the corner to the bathroom and i'm in
the tub. what are you doing
i'm smiling
what are you doing
what does it look like i'm doing
that funny little animal , how badly you want it
to be out loud. then we can't paint the goat blood on our
door, we can't let god pass us over. yr knees are locked
and my veins are loaded. here, you hold the gun. the lamb
is ready for slaughter.
a bunch of empty guts, some tylenol buried
in clammy hands you come in an hour
back to knock on the door: i told
them you got sick
thank you
don't come home tonight
thank you
i powder my nose and the holiday
lights are strung before thanksgiving. you
will keep climbing mountains with the blonde
arm hairs of the glad hearts. you are too good to
go looking in lower places;
you are too good to **** a hound of hell.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
But at the end of the day, I don't want the one who will spin my head round, who will make my blood boil, whose kisses will feel like I'm on fire, whose touch will make the universe explode. No. I want the one who will be okay seeing me throw up after we've had a bit too much to drink; who will hold my hair and call me a loser the next morning, but will, nonetheless, leave two Tylenol on the nightstand. I want the one who won't mind taking care of me when I'm sick, who won't mind my coughing fits and my runny nose. I want the one who will be perfectly fine with running home in the rain after we've missed our bus; who will be content with wearing ugly sweaters in front of the telly, drinking hot chocolate and watching silly movies. I want the one who will cook for me and who won't mind my cooking. I want the one who will be perfectly comfortable with us walking around in our underwear and who will drink as much coffee as I do. I want the one who will lie in bed with our laptop while I'm reading a book and won't mind the silence. I want the one who will buy my parents silly Christmas gifts and someone whose mother I'll be friends with. I want the one who will laugh at my jokes when they're funny and will call me an idiot when they **** I want the one who will beat me at computer games and who won't mind that I sing even though I **** at singing. I want the one who will open up to me and let me help them; who will listen to my worries but who will respect my personal space. I want the one who will call me silly nicknames and who will tell me they love me everyday. I want the one who will take pictures with me and will pin them on the fridge. All I crave is comfort and stability. Don't romanticise love: the only thing you'll ever need is a best friend who wants to sleep with you and spend the rest of your life with you.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
Holding broken pieces of past in the palms of my outstretched hands
Reasons evade me
I sit here struggling to understand
The edges dig deep
Causing tender skin to seep scarlet drops
Taking Tylenol to pummel pain until it finally stops
I'm ready to give up life and dive headfirst into my grave
It is difficult for me but I must admit my soul is far too gone to save
The devil stole it from my bones and doesn't plan on giving it back
Without it polished surface falters and slowly begins to crack
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 4:04 PM UTC
If I listened to every advertisement
hollering through the static
of my cable-hooked television,
I'd have a mammoth bottle
of Hidden Valley Ranch
sitting with the ego-quenching sheen
of recommendation in my fridge,
a Weight Watchers membership
(it told me to join as soon as possible
with the speed of a steroid-devouring treadmill),
Children's Tylenol
(despite being situationally barren),
and a Bowflex-shaped elephant,
ivory tusks slumping uselessly in the corner.
My living room would be the fraternal twin
of the American Smithsonian,
a faux-genuine quilt
of our Founding Fathers'
present day descendants
draping over my popcorn ceiling.
I return to the latest
sacred cow in the flea store
cartel of Lifetime Movie heroines;
it's "Vengeful Vixens Sunday"
and Elizabeth Berkley shooting men
and stabbing women in the back
all while eating buckets of Ben and Jerry
and getting addicted to crystal ****
The dialogue is as freshly
packaged and slovenly edible
as the Minute Ready Late Night Dinner
with a cartoon grandma plastered on the logo,
all to remind you of down home,
or in the case of this Lifetime screenplay,
a time when the brain wasn't fully developed.
Same difference.
We all hide our guilty pleasures
as if our tolerance for the
secondhand existence of these favorites
were deemed malignant
by a cardboard kingdom
of young adult sophistication,
but I ask you:
who hasn't slipped into the comfort
of a mind turned to mush?
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
I should love you as an eight year old,
asking to be excused from your third grade class
to go throw up in the bathroom.
Leaning over your desk in fevered prayer,
hunched over two tender nubs of breast.
Sitting down with your counselor
and a pack of giggling girls to have “the talk”
while bleeding into a *** of toilet paper.
I should love you as a twelve year old,
blue eyes lined and lipstick smudged.
Crouched behind the bushes, expelling chunks
of non-digested pizza and coke.
Taking two bottles of tylenol and laying down
on your kitchen floor, watching the broiler burn.
Calling your boyfriend, and whispering
so your mom won’t hear
“I love you, I hate you, don’t go, leave me to die”
I should love you as a fourteen year old,
thin as a pencil, hair black and straight
Walking with a humming in your head
to your eighth grade classes, slipping away
to the library and reading books on dying
and so you steal a bottle of ativan
from your grandfather’s medicine cabinet.
You take 10.
I should love you as you are now.
Seventeen, eyes darkened to a jade,
and burnt out on suicide attempts.
But I don’t.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
Help yourselves dear poets
if you have fever use filtered martinelly apple juice or any brand you got dilude it with water a glass every hour
it has boron it heals cutting fevers fast I used in my children tylenol can harm liver.
~~~~~~
for the stronger health users go
organic carrot and (beat juice-
-optional) if you only want water distiled is best one gallon add 20 drops of oregano leaf oil
and only drink this is antiviral.
fir one day or two
~~~~~~
If you tolerate take on raw garlic two or more Clove's blend them in filtered, or boiled or distilled water or even Gatorade electrolyte or smart water
add cayenne pepper or any hot peppers you have like cayenne it's good for heart
( no halapeños they irritate intestinal lining ) add sea salt to taste cilantro if you have add two yellow lemon juices freshly squeezed one hole mandarine or small organic orange
add ginger root fresh a finger size slice
add turmeric fresh root
you have apple cider vinegar with the mother in
add some one tablespoon
optional
add multivitamin mineral
and vitamin C ascorvic acid
8f no lemon available.
if you feel anxiety check thyroid it controls brain chemicals add a thyroid supplement vitamin to shake open capsule and blend all these and drink five onces
every 3 hours.
it's anti virulent immune system booster
200 mg of vitamin B complex nightly in powder form will stop your restless leg syndroms help nerves and good sleep add but D3
If you dear find milk thistle it heals detox liver tastes great open one or two capsules in glass of water I drink this daily.
~~~~~
Stay blessed all poets visitors friends you are much loved.
by Karijinbba
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 4:32 PM UTC
Kissing, supporting—
then sniffing, then snorting:
Xanax, ****** Tylenol.
Alcohol will never expire
dealer, buyer—
you're getting higher and—and—and
Louder, louder—
you're drowning in prescription powder.
You're given *** speed, salvation
It's not love, it's medication.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
There will come a day,
probably a Tuesday,
you'll be hoeing and
yanking yellow weeds
by the handful, the
sun in the center of
the sky; Or you'll
be climbing through
your lover's window
while her husband
unlocks the front door,
thinking to yourself,
"Jesus, we didn't
even do anything
today. Just gave
her her insulin shot,"
and your heart
no longer pumps
so much as begs,
begs for silence,
but that's funny,
isn't it? because there
isn't any sound,
only the perceived
dissonance of a
scattered mind;
But maybe, if you're
lucky, it'll be at night,
the two of you in bed,
and she'll timidly ask
if you're hungry,
and you'll say what you
always say to that question:
yes, yes I am, and she'll
ask if you want a sandwich,
and you'll say, "I'll get it."
"You're too sweet."
"It's not a problem."
After spreading the mustard,
there'll be a pain in your chest,
mild at first, just at first, but by the
time you get halfway down the
hall you'll drop the plate
of sandwiches on the floor
and ***** in the toilet,
and you'll probably know
then what's happening;
But what did you ever do
to earn that kind of quiet,
relatively quiet, ending?
You've got a few things in mind,
but you've got a few more bad that
negate any kudos any kind
of god would award, so
let's be honest. That's what
you want, right?
Death will wake you up,
probably around 6 because
you've never been a morning
person, and when you wake
it won't be from a feeling, like
a physiological manifestation,
no, no that'd give you time
to remember Mom in the
hospital when she called
you by the wrong name.
No, Death will come in
the form of a headache,
and if your wife was
there she'd already be up,
and she'd say something
like: "Poor baby," and
get the Tylenol out of
the cabinet to the left
of the sink for you,
but she's not there, is she?
No, she's living with her
sister right now while
you "figure yourself
out" and your
kids, two boys and a girl,
all grown with families
of their own, think you've
been selfish, but what was the
word you countered with?
"Necessary." Yes, it's necessary,
you'll think as you pop three pills
in and run your mouth under the
facet, and you'll collapse, pills
rolling across the floor, stopping
under the cabinets where no one
will ever find them. Your vision
will burn white; it won't fade to black
like you thought, and your head, Jesus,
your head sounds like tools in a dryer,
but you know there is no sound, and
this is it, this is honestly it, you alone
on the floor in nothing but your
grey boxer shorts, the ones riddled
with holes that your wife told you to throw out,
and a fragmented halo of Tylenol around you.
Your wife. Your wife. Your wife. Your wife.
You'll say her name, you'll say "Eve,"
and your mouth will close itself, and your
fist will unclench itself, and you know what?
That'll be it, to borrow a phrase. Nobody
will find you for three days, and even then,
when they do, they'll wish they never had.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
The day started out just like any other
Screaming boys throwing toys
Feet pounding like thunder
Tummies were rumbling
Energies depleted
Mom decided that breakfast was needed
While in the kitchen cooking
Always taking requests
Chocolate blueberry pancakes sounded the best
With pancakes on the stove
Aromas in the air
Two sets of tiny feet ran to the dining room chairs
With pancakes in sight
They squealed with delight
Ready to devour their share
While waiting for food
Conversation turned rude
One child shouted "MY PANCAKE, MOVE OVER!"
Knowing her children
Things could get heated
Trying to intervene she said "Move over, then stay seated"
Before she could turn her back
There was a shove a BOOM and a CRACK
Followed by ear splitting screaming
She pulled the cooking pancakes from the stove
Ran through the baby gate and dove
Looking to see if he was bleeding
His forehead was red
Blue and purple bruises already spread
A goose egg was starting to show
Pupils were checked
Tylenol and snuggles were given
Then mom returned to finish up her mission
A few minutes later
One hit the other with a Tow Mater
He fell to the floor
Thus ending the great pancake war
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
The girl curled up in her chair
Scribbling away in her purple notebook
3/4 of the paper filled
Scars deeper than I though possible
Neatly lined up her arm
The youngest kid
Destined for paleontology
Sits in the back playing solitaire and fusball
His reading of being here
Completely unknown
Her high bun in her blonde hair
Match perfectly
With her soft-spoken tone
A complete shock
To learn of her purging past
The average girl
Moved here from New Jersey
Her foot tapping anxiously
Due to her parents misunderstandings
And from all of the Tylenol she swallowed
Her hand aimlessly writes
Pages and pages written
To her boyfriend of who-knows-how-long
Who supports her
And does t care about the scars
She sleeps all day
Except for when the therapists torment her
Trying anything
To get her to eat
Or even say a single word
The oldest one here
To everyone, her happiness seems more than just a bluff
But she's here for a reason
Clearly, her rocket scientist dream
Hasn't worked out yet
He was out in two days
His feelings more if a passing thought
For his puns
And love for horror
Prove his happiness
I sit and listen, alone
My suicidal-ness a shock to most
Still misunderstood
I can't wrap my head around it
I just.
Want.
Out.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
i am so dizzy and i must have vertigo
the harem girls tire me out real nice
it's all good and well in the south until someone goes and cuts their hair
please come with me
am i as you wish me to be?
our time is so short and i must be dreaming
give me some tylenol or something
the more i move the less i can
please come with me? please come with me and cuts their hair she said
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
I'm currenty somewhere between
Emotionally void
And too emotional.
It's not just OCD, or depression, or anxiety.
Or what everyone else thinks I have.
Just, you know,
ASPD.
Ha.
It makes me laugh.
**** yourself.
I need therapy again,
And I'm so jealous of those who can afford it.
I need meds,
And I'm so angry at those who can get it.
I know I need help.
But when you act out or ask for help
And all you get is silenced
Because it means your parenting is week
Because you care how it affects someone else instead
Because it is too much for you too handle
Because you'd rather I fix you,
Then I'm not going to get better.
Do you know how I solve it alone?
Razors and safety pins to make it dull,
Nyquil and Tylenol PM to get some rest.
***** and **** to medicate the main problems,
And binging and vomitting to get the physique back.
Maybe I don't need help.
This seems to be working pretty.
Well, only if pretty well means not at all.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Everyone says "your family is perfect"
Everyone thinks we get along.
Everyone hears us speaking words of care
Everyone sees us hugging.
But listen to my words, look a little closer.
Behind that closed door, you'll find out.
Behind that door.
Screams and tears and fits.
Behind that door.
Bangs and yells and thumps.
Behind that door.
Sighs and yells and slams.
Behind that door.
Hums and tears slide down.
Behind my door.
Sleepless nights and blades.
Behind my door.
Cuts and tears and blood.
Behind my door.
I break and fade away.
Behind the front door.
Fights when cracks make breaks.
People fading away.
People losing faith.
Behind our doors.
Overdose on Tylenol
Overdose on tears.
Losing voices. Red eyes.
"Your family is perfect"
"You guys have it all"
"You are such a great family"
We tear at each other's throats.
We scream till our voices break.
I cry cause can't feel pain anymore.
We tell till our lungs give way.
We fight until our legs give out.
That's behind our doors.
-3nwlry
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 8:21 PM UTC
I am there
Wishing that if I pressed my fingers to your lips
I could understand the broken Braille of your breath
When your throat locks in the noise
Gentle butterfly gut
Fanning flames over burning cinderblocks in your belly
I am there
When you wished the moon in a rearview mirror
Heading west
Wondering if you really could go far enough to see its dark side
When you wanted to turn back
I was there
When she drank razorblades
And Tylenol ink
Into a botched suicide note
I was there
This is the journey
When he wondered when he could hold somebody again
Like a waterbed full of blood
Without the motion sickness
I was there
Every moment y’all
Of your ***** sacred
I want to be there
So when you see that this place is so big
And you are so small
And our souls might be stardust and minerals
Burning blue so far away
At least you’re not alone
Your body is built for love
She said
Beer breathed and true
I smiled
I was there
Kiss me with your car parts
DUI this knee buckle
I want to be tried and arrested
Spit out and spanked
And I will still kneel before you
And praise all that is good in you
Because you are holy
Every moment of you is holy
I was there
Begging to be baptized by your presence
Because in a place so big
I don’t want to feel so alone anymore
I want to kiss you
I want to kiss you
Like you are better
Than everything you’ve ever done
You are
I was there
When the world inside your breastplate
Spun natural disaster
And sunshine
Anvil remorse
And sweet laughter
When I held you
Any of you
And our worlds
Vibrated a conversation only our souls could understand
I was there
And all we could speak was “LOVE”
All we could speak was “Us”
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
When I was small I said “Mom
my tummy hurts” and
then kisses and maybe a spoon of liquid
(icky) tylenol followed and then
All Better!
Now
when I’m bigger in shoe size, in brain
(in tummy)
Now when
my stomach starts to bubble and
roil and twist I know the source
is not candy and the
cure is no longer kisses and
I need so much more I need
slow breaths and
slower
thoughts
and
no maternal concern concerning
itself with my intestines, small or
large
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 2:59 AM UTC
Edie strolled into the restaurant, her favorite place
as a child.
The diner was decorated in a 50's theme
and looked like it was a drunken night's
regurgitation of the one in "Pulp Fiction."
She sat down in front of her father,
who had been watching her ever since she pulled up.
"Jesus Christ, Edie. What did those shoes cost you?"
Edie was wearing a pair of pink heels with
Louboutin trademark red soles.
"Enough," Edie spat, with obvious contempt for her father's concern.
The waitress approached,
sat her plump buttocks on the booth
next to Edie's father and took their drink order.
Two coffees, two waters, and an orange juice.
"I want you to meet my new girlfriend, Edie."
"What the **** do you mean by that?"
"Have dinner with us."
"No, thanks."
Edie's father took a deep sigh.
"I know this is about your mother---"
Edie threw a ten on the table, and
strode quickly to the door.
Elvis, Marilyn, and Frank look-a-likes stared
curiously at her full-figure.
Edie sank into her car with tears rolling
down her cheeks.
She drove to a convenience store and purchased
two bottles- Tylenol and Jack.
She threw a couple swigs of each back and raced
towards the Turner Motel, where her next
client waited eagerly with a sweaty forehead and a
chest panting like a diseased dog.
Edie let it fester.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:52 PM UTC
it helped the pain but
woulden't hide the bruises
no matter how she
begged
makeup coulden't cover it so
she skipped class, remembering
last time she had to
explain the bruises
on her face
away
failed the class because
she coulden't scream
or the neigbors would know
and it happened again and
again
grew up
like a sick and sadistic
broken bone
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 10:43 PM UTC
i was awake
at the wrong time last night.
i saw your body walking in the rain
a thousand shadows dragged behind
on a chain of lust.
there were teeth behind your lips
and you bared them at me, soundlessly
fury on your tongue like a poison
you were aching to spit
but hadn't words to describe.
two tylenol and a vitamin d
the next morning i woke to find
you had killed me without any great regret.
what a sickness. last week we sat on the couch
and you got up to make popcorn,
asked me about trivial things
like butter and salt
and the weather tomorrow
i guess you thought that you loved me
but i can't see how.
you blamed me for what, for everything?
there was nothing wrong with your life
if you wanted snow my dear,
all you had to do was wait
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake
Filmmaker and artist
Mysterious fate
Harassed by the government
They so did believe
And those that follow
Scientology
Tylenol and Bourbon
Caused Theresa's o.d.
Then Jeremy walked
into the ocean or sea
Did they walk out
of a Hollywood contract
It's happened before
We know this as fact
The tragic dimensions
Of love and of loss
Was ever considered
The terrible cost
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
Bright kid
Straight A's
Always quiet as a mouse
But nowadays it seems she can barely even leave her house
Can't breathe
Can't speak
Can't even walk down the street without help
The doctors don't know what her body is doing to itself
"Go there
Take that
Pull her from this, this, and that"
Late nights
No sleep
Is barely able to eat
There's something wrong
They know it's true
"The symptoms just aren't there," they say, "Where's the proof?"
Work piling up
Quizzes missed
How is she expected to finish all of this?
"Coughing?
Wheezing?"
"All of the above
Not to mention a killer headache
and a bit of a stomach bug"
"There's no temperature yet,
So all we can do
Is give her some Tylenol with Codeine
And see if it's just the flu"
Bright kid
Hardly an A in sight
Always quiet as a mouse
Except for at night
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
He won't tell you he loves you. He will not look at you like you're the universe or the sun or even the smallest star in the sky. He will not show up at your doorstep at two a.m. and he won't give up his seat for you and he won't make you mix tapes. But he will stay up talking to you, making you laugh and sigh when you're almost falling asleep. He will be thousands of miles away, but whenever you feel like your lungs are filling up with smoke and you forget how to breathe and your hands get sweaty, you'll think of him and feel okay again. You'll write poems about him that he will never read and he'll listen to your favorite band and tell you how much he hates their music. He'll show you new songs to listen to and you'll love all of them. A baby bird will die in your hands and you'll never stop thinking about it. This is how he will leave you. Two years later you'll still love him even when you're no longer lonely. You'll dream about his eyes and you'll find it hard to understand how he left before he was ever really yours to hold. You'll be okay without him but you won't be happy, and that little bird won't ever leave your mind. He'll never leave your mind. He probably won't think of you because he has someone new he can hold. Someone with brighter eyes and a wider smile and whenever she asks about you, he'll smile but he will only say, "all I remember is how much she loved this really ****** band."
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
I have never been the victim
when my *** bubbles over everyone
comforts my mother
when I cry my family laughs
when my sister cries and I tell her
to **** it up* because that's what I
was taught, I am the heartless *****
my mother still has the nerve to
remind me that I would have never
lasted a day in the house she grew up in
I want to remind her that she never
calls her own mother though she
lives only 15 minutes away
misunderstood is an understatement
when I take 25 Tylenol everyone comforts
my mother
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 7:38 PM UTC