"unconsciousness" poems
1002
Aurora is the effort
Of the Celestial Face
Unconsciousness of Perfectness
To simulate, to Us.
10.1k
Tightened skin stretched around burning sockets
dry eyes that want nothing more then to weep
staring at non existent patterns of the ceiling
trying to decipher something
anything
to bring release, blessed unconsciousness
to float away for a time and timeless
to not exist
nothing
until time to wake again to face this hateful world
torn full of words and screaming to be heard
only to rush to another endless night
to lay alone with the voices
and wish desperately
to sleep
tortuously the weary mind tired beyond comprehension
is denied this most basic of escapes from life
seemingly trapped here in this stale
empty bed that reflects
waking life.
Send me out to the emptiness between galaxies
and let me sleep forever in the cold dark
peace.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
You whisper to me so elegantly
As you kiss my forehead
My head on your chest
Falling asleep
To the rhythm of your heartbeat
"Sweet dreams, my darling..."
As our heavy heads hit the pillow
We each drift into our own state
Of unconsciousness
* * *
4,728 miles from each other
Time zones which feel as if
We are light years apart
You are falling asleep,
As I am wide awake;
Daydreaming
The only thing that you can say
Through the electric current is:
"I will see you in my dreams, my darling..."
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 9:43 PM UTC
Here oh postmodern nihilist
the grave awaits
your death
wish:
Life
a
struggle
escape it
death
so tempting
grasp it
and take its era with you:
Keep it
away from our church's
our schools
our civics
and further culture.
Lo, the children
black as the hell they die in...
Its inordinately subjective unconsciousness;
confused emotionally with its ineptitude of reason.
Blaming its former God,
for their own doing.
Wanting to save that world upon themselves left behind from such a rejection.
Lest they live in a Christ so unjust.
As to not know all men equally,
but to judge them--in their distinction.
Creation
your natural law
emphasizes that which we do not want to come to terms with.
If only we could make us all inter-dependent biological beings of mechanization.
Chain me to genetic determinism and biochemical reactions foremost -- lest my soul affirms inequality:
Liberty exulted
by the risen Lord:
Supremacy/Autonomy
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
I was in trouble
And oh boy did I know it
I came home drunk last night
the hangover showed it
As I crawled out of bed, headache splitting my eyes
I saw my wife with that "I love you but I'm going to **** you" vibe,
but she held it in and on her face a look of concern was her guise
I hurled for about an hour
then my stomach settled down
I looked for my wife
but she was nowhere to be found
I drank some water, and soon after hit the floor
before I slipped into unconsciousness
I saw my wife come through the door
I woke up, and took in my surroundings
I was in a dark , medium sized room
caged in, and the floor was concrete..
And in walked my wife, with a crop and a corset on that hourglass body, she looked ready for a pounding
I wondered.. what the hell was going on?
how did she know I wanted to try this...
when did I let it on?
She walked into the room, I was tied to the bed,
but before whacking me, she surveyed me instead
She walked slowly around me
My eyes drinking in her features,
She whacked me in my chest and said
Look here boy, I'm going to tease you
She slid the corset down, showing one ****** off,
I was now hard where I once was soft
She licked herself slowly
Me getting aroused all the more
I knew my wife was the experimental type
but even she didn't know what was in store
She slid those ******* down
My God she was so wet
She slid her finger inside and said
"Nope, you can't have this yet"
I shook with anticipation. Pleading with her through my eyes
She remained adamant and continued weaving an arousing web, all truth here, I can't tell any lies.
She slid my pants off my legs
And threw them to the floor
She got on top of me and yelled
today you're my personal manwhore!
with that I found myself inside,
bouncing on my cxck
I had never seen her this aggressive
it came off as quite a shock
After an hour and hundreds of welts later
it Appeared she was done with me
that's when she layed next to me and whispered
"Happy Anniversary"!
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
this is who I am. This is my story.
It is only coincidence that I sing it
to you,
but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning
amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets
I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was
me. My unconsciousness begging me
for nourishment, silently loudly attacking
my awareness with questions: it asked why
I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
is this, too, why your body vibrates
when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too
have recognized feeling as thought? That that
faculty of wonder you hush about as if a
***** secret of forgotten childhood memory
is something that is as real as
the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch,
but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing
thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words
creaking like old wood in a library filled
with students who read so much ******** to get into
college but never venture forth for such skin
in the skin of those unconscious voices in the
shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe.
The ideas wriggle in your veins like
a worm. They block your blood yet move
your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness
is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you,
pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek.
So I suspect of myself.
I do not understand how else I could have been born
without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see
why else.
I cannot.
You cannot.
There is light over there in that darkness.
A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver
has shocked you into your paleness. Into my
blackness. It is the same difference. A different
same.
Line break:
A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes.
My brownness ***** me into journeys with
tunnels so deep that we call them pupils.
In the distance that I gaze into I find
myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom
it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not
willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching:
this is the soul you said does not exist.
It is not there. It is.
In Indiana.
Where's that? asks my blood.
In Indiana.
Over there? my finger points out the window.
No. It is.
It is. Not.
Suddenly I smell something and it is myself.
It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin.
I ask you where it is.
Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself.
It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black.
You ask me where I think it is.
What the **** do we know?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
She felt his words enter her soul
As he traced every inch of her skin.
'beautiful' he whispered delicately.
She drifted in and out of realities and daydreams,
Consciousness and unconsciousness.
He stayed gazing at her pure beauty.
Her body was made for his eyes.
Her lips were made for his lips.
A perfect fit.
They lay there for the day.
Talking.
Laughing.
Crying.
They learned each others secrets.
They opened up their pasts.
They planned a future together.
And after all this they fell asleep.
She woke in the morning with a sickening feeling in her gut.
He was gone.
She was too terrified to roll over.
To see the indent of him on those sheets.
She feared that she'd suffocate on the oxygen he'd used up the night before.
She reached one arm cautiously over to the other side of the bed.
Felt his wonderful skin
Laying next to her.
She let out a sigh of relief.
He meant it.
He did.
He meant every word.
He woke with a sleepy gaze.
'beautiful'
He whispered as he kissed her forehead.
Inhaled her scent.
And for the first time in a long time.
This broken hearted train wreck really did feel....
Beautiful.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
My hands shake so much that every time I touch glass, it breaks and leaves blood running through the lines in my palms.
This has happened so often that my psychic tells me she's unable to tell my future because the lines in my hands are so stained that they can't be read anymore.
You see, what she's really trying to tell me is that my psyche is so damaged from lack of oxygen due to drowning in this anxiety.
So don't you dare call this femininity because it isn't very womanly to crave unconsciousness any time I'm alone.
If femininity is synonymous with being beautiful then tell me how it's beautiful to have attempted to die twenty-one times,
Or how two hospitalizations lead me out of the waters of my depression but yet still left me drowning in the ocean with anxiety.
This is not feminine and this is not beautiful, this is my mother screaming that I'm crazy and my father claiming "we're only doing this because we love you,"
This is my anxiety and I in a water-filled box that decreases in size until my head is crammed against the top and the only way I can go is down,
This is my anxiety tied like bricks to my ankles with the sole purpose of holding me under;
This is NOT womanly or feminine or beautiful.
So I beg of you, do not refer to me with metaphors about bodies of water because I don't need a reminder to let me know I'm drowning,
My ****** hands tell me enough about that.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
The sun tipping over the horizon
Lifts my lids each revolution of this Shady green sphere...
And for a few brief seconds
The fingers of sleep
Drag me back.
Warm pressure on my eyes,
Pooling, (re)opening them to the last
Paradise;
The only oasis where your eyes are not closed
And your bones are not dust somewhere
Mingling with the soil in Pittsburgh.
Just the same, I know you're the product now
Of some hypnagogic state;
Of the last traces of theoretical DMT swirling in my brain
As is leaves Morpheus behind in the shadows.
You're just the most beautiful hallucination
The truth in the chaos of dreams
Cluing me into what I've been denying
For 13 years.
Impossible that I've preserved you better
Than any mortician could have
In the recesses of my mind
You are a perfect replica
An unholy copy of the original
All creamy skin
And ocean eyes,
Full-lipped smile tipping somewhere between
Arrogance and joy.
"I'm gone," you say. "I'm dead."
Repeating what I already know
"I'm dead, I'm not coming back."
On repeat like the worst kind of ear worm;
A carousel of sound that dips and weaves through every filament of Unconsciousness.
Denial; like reaching out my hands
I shove against the reality, against the unreality
Against the prison sleep has woven
And crash forth
Damp and gasping
Like breaking the surface once more
Teetering over the horizon with the sun
Into the waking hell of another day.
The carousel makes another revolution.
See you on the other side tonight.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Ancient doors creak and groan
scraping back the dust
of ages gone
A formidable sight...
like standing guardians
since time immortal
Slinking in
past swirling fog
I pause to calm my fear
adding strength to resolve
when suddenly...
a deafening voice ERUPTS
with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths
Solid ground shatters beneath me...
I hover helplessly
Below me...
a noxious boiling maelstrom
The voice of truth EXPLODES from above
ECHOing my 'Every Sin'
the resounding shock-waves
drive me down
Legs lifted high
to avoid the searing pain
then
a tangle of blistered hands reach out
and drag me within the churning inferno
Blinding spin and unbearable suction
envelope
Scream fades to gurgle
Unconsciousness welcome
though never met
The searing pain still rising yet
Each fibre ripped apart
to molecular particle
Riding the vortex of purification
Separating sins from soul
Finally
Cast out
and caught yet again by the uterine web
with the voice of truth
still taunting ...
" BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Amadou awakened with a start, it was Omar one of the guardians(security guards) of Yaldagou (the largest Hospital in the capital of Burkina Faso) knocking on the window of his taxi, Amadou had just settled down for the night after a long day in the heat and fumes that was Ouagadougou it was just after midnight on Sunday, he struggled to wake up rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Omar explained in Mori(local language), that there were two white people in need of his special service.
After a quick explanation that someone had died in a private clinic nearby and the body needed to be transported to the morgue at Yaldagou, he snapped out of his sleepiness and thought for a moment how much he could charge the rich white people, it was two days after Eid and as a strict Muslim he had been celebrating the holidays and now he had been offered an opportunity to supplement his taxi income, someone had to do it and it was an unsavory job and anyway on the few occasions he had done it, it had been lucrative, it might as well be him!
Amadou thought to himself, if you had the misfortune to die in the day time there was a private service but in the night dignity went out the window and it was up to people like Amadou and a select bunch of taxi drivers with seats that could be configured to accommodate the corpses of the recently deceased to perform this service, so taxi 87 driven by Amadou would take this lady who had died from kidney and other ***** failures, after struggling for some days she eventually lost her battle and slipped into unconsciousness and finally died.
Amadou finally settled on 10000 CFA(local currency) a fair price, after all the so-called professionals would charge 30000 CFA three times more and it was around Eid "Allah Akbar".
A quick "Thank you" to Omar for helping them and the two white people left with him for the short journey to the clinic, after the usual discussions the body was released and transported to the morgue to join the other recently deceased waiting for burial in the morning,
Amadou, rearranged the seating in his taxi after parking up in his favourite place under the trees of Yaldago it was just after one thirty, a good ninety mins work he thought to himself, yawned, and settled down to sleep a few more hours before dawn prayers.
This was Africa and "someone had to do it" was his last thought.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
I miss you every day, as I pretend you never existed
It's the only way I feel ok, but my mind is twisted
I love you, I always will
I just hope feeling alright doesn't always rely on these pills.
I'm not ready to move on, my unconscious clearly shows me that
I'm afraid to go to sleep because I know you'll be there
and when I wake up, I just stare
blankly into the light of my clock, trying not to feel
disappointed in the fact that you'll never be here.
All night, I run from sleep to avoid those dreams I hate
but in the morning I scratch at the door of unconsciousness
begging it to let me back in,
because those dreams are my only escape.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
And now, the sickness presents itself on my face.
It arrives in the form of two dark circles,
The color of a stranger’s shadow,
Which linger beneath eyes
That have seen too little of the world.
It arrives in the form of skin so sallow,
Of cheekbones so sunken,
Of a mouth too tired to open
And say all the words I wish held more meaning.
And I long for sleep,
I ache for sleep.
As the hours pass,
My limbs become as weak as my will.
If I only had an enemy lesser than consciousness,
I could have won by now.
But every time I envision the sweet escape
Of unconsciousness,
My broken-record-mind violently hurls me back
Into my abandoned realm of reality.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
******
A symbol of denial, congeniality, and assurance of love;
the fate of maternity, motherhood, that is witnessed
and cherished from afar.
From a sacred little haven;
from a struggle of motherly defense.
O ******
Temptations are to you never a bother,
in the tempests of lush dreams,
the draining of purity,
and veritable sensations.
Steadiness is your notion;
it barely leaves your mind
you may be deeply hurt
but never hurt,
you may be a stranger
but your grace is your power.
Truth that is unpardonable,
veraciousness at my simplest words,
clarity that is gleaming in your eye,
a token of pleasure but indestructible affection;
adorable as you are,
serenity is beyond question;
dreams are but inseparable from your docile life.
O ****** the sweetness and gentleness of thy eyes
are my irreplaceable silence,
my appraised soul,
and my most resolute
and irrepressible invocation.
O ****** one that is so rare a rose
Many as in the May-day dance are tainted;
marks of annoyance, omens of indulgence.
With hunger for nothing but moans;
unsober groans, and quickening breaths in paces of outward satisfaction;
intoxicated desires but unloving movements;
on the grounds for endless dancing;
there is the thirst for grips, the grossest of stateliness!
Voluptuous romance, perfidious touches, and
false-hearted toys!
In the wakeful dreams of which
I long for you, a handful of thy chastest kisses!
I pray for your hands, so delicate
as mine, how they shall fit into each other!
I long for your lips, your spotless, uncorrupted cheeks,
My demand is for your hands;
for sanity, and sincerest cordiality
Despite of my guilt and former unconsciousness
I shall amend my grief for you,
for you only,
for oureth perfect, unconquerable happiness,
and the union of our souls
in a day of holy matrimony.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
When she kisses me?
It's like a fairytale in reverse.
Her lips put me under a trance.
Instead of waking me up
I fall into a deep unconsciousness.
Rather than breaking a spell
she puts me under her own.
Maybe that's the reason
I'm always dreaming of her.
s.mndi
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
I love her most
When the dawn glow
makes shadows on her face.
When the fog of unconsciousness
has relaxed limbs
and warmed her soft skin.
When her waking woes
have played out in dreams.
When her hold tightens
and I let go of
everything but her.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
A mirror I carry
and ignorance I bury
I witness the truth
And walk in the light
I discover, cover by cover
Who I am beyond these covers
I see with clarity
And act out of normality
I am the vision of infinity
I am the image of signifacance
I walk into a trance
I see grace take a glance
I find the I beyond what they see
I see harmony between you and me
I grasp a life whole
I embrace the blaze shining
They were finger-like linings
Revealing the truth of what lies in
I grab a pencil and write
It creates a feeling alright
I see the justice in all His might
I view lies that can't be right
I find my life waiting
I am late as if I had been dead
Only hiding from the truth, which many-a-men dread
I then receive a conscious conscience conscientious of unconsciousness
And I know that I am alive.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
The pitter-patter
(pitter-patter)
of the rain against my window
attempted to lull me to sleep,
but sleep
(pitter-patter)
pitter-pattered away.
Nature's mournful tears
waltzed down my window
and collected in pools of sorrow,
and every thought
in the back of my mind
was pulled forth for
reflection,
knocking me off the edge
of unconsciousness and into
the restless abyss that is
insomnia.
I tried counting sheep,
but they were all
nestled together -
in a bundle of
wool and dreams -
taunting me in their
slumber,
teasing me in
dormancy.
So I laid there
and thought,
and spoke to myself,
and dreamed
of a restful night.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
The Pressure
pressing down on me
the weight of all the world,
& all it's words.
the weight of the words left unspoken,
left behind by the needed.
The conscious unconsciousness,
restrains our imagination.
Morality,
restrains our actions.
The need for order,
restrains our inner chaos.
We limit ourselves,
because we feel pressure to do so.
14 pounds per square inch,
of pressure from every direction.
Holding us together,
while keeping us down.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
the addict told *******
he was moving out of town
and could never be found
the **** user
kept calling her hypothalamus
but it never called back
the midbrain begged
the frontal cortex please
just one more time, ok?
the parents wondered
why the alcohol counselor
was not Jesus
the *** addict apologized
to the therapist
for not wearing underwear
again
the alcoholic told his boss
his grandmother died of juvenile diabetes
and he had to go to his funeral
the counselor sighed
then read again
what the Tao Te King said
about nature's inscrutable ways
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 9:39 AM UTC
Inject me,
Pierce the skin
And it let it merge
With blood cells and
Bacardi,
Press your lips against mine
And slip the pill onto my tongue,
Don't pull away until each grain
dissolves
Stacks of cash
From selling love in bottles,
Capsules,
IV drips,
Losing our minds as we
Become entangled in unconsciousness.
But when I wake up you're gone.
Sweaty palms,
Goosebumps,
The fear of relinquishing control,
Or even losing my mind?
We become addicted to the visions
In our head,
The dreams we steal from dark corners
Of the brain
When we are intoxicated,
Yet with each passing of time
We rely on what numbs the pain
Of what we lost.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
I sit and wait for the inevitable.....
Time passes......
I sit within stress and worry.
All the stress you've put me through,
My heart races,
My phone echoes,
I’ve run out of time.
Unconsciousness to consciousness
I drift,
Within my thoughts,
I am.....
My own worst enemy.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
Suited up as I try to maintain
In this ground cracking weather.
Heavy bags on my back
And artillery in my hands.
Goggles dusty
From the blistering sand
That slice my face like razors
With every gust of wind.
The scorching temperature
Is on hell and every breath
I take is so dry that my tongue's stiff.
One canteen, a few packs of food,
And a mission to complete.
My boots are laced,
With my feet feeling like people
Trapped in a burning building.
The further I go the more my body
Feels like it's being cremated.
I must reach my destination....
As helicopters pass through
Dropping explosives the size of a
Small child with the impact of
Several meteors hitting the earth.
Running like a track meet and
Maneuvering like a game of Dodgeball.
Gunfire, bodies, and thick smoke
As I bypass fallen aircrafts.
Approaching my target which
Will be my final destination.
BOOM! I found myself airborne to
Only hit the ground in unconsciousness.
BEEEEP! Is all I hear as I try to get
Up and regain consciousness.
Just a little over a hundred yards to
Go with a blurred vision
Feels like a lifetime.
As I'm reaching my target with
Bullets whistling pass my ears....
It's time. I set up my shot....
I hold my breath
Heart pounding with adrenaline
I'm studying
I'm focused
I'm ready....
POW! As my 50 caliber jerks
Back into my shoulder kicking
The dirt off the ground like a horse
At the Kentucky Derby.
MISSION COMPLETE!
As I'm going home with a bad case
Of paranoia and a Metal of honor...
I still have disastrous flashbacks
And ****** nightmares.
But....Nothing compares to that
STORM in the DESERT.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
I didn't mind the headache,
or the weakness in my stomach
when I opened my eyes this morning.
All that mattered was his hands caressing my sides,
down past my thighs;
His crooked half smile that made my heart swim;
His huge arms as they pulled me into him,
his determination to make sure there was no space between us;
His breathing as he slowly fell back to sleep,
and his soft whispers in my ear
as I drifted further into unconsciousness.
He
He is the one for me.
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 4:49 PM UTC