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"undead" poems
Clothes have outgrown me many times over, but this sadness never does. One size. fits all. There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you. Wishing these slits within my skin could have been replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.” My name causes a sigh to escape from lips, that do not feel like they belong to me, the girl, whose words always had to be special. The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain, born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child. Never trusting time due to what it delivers. Death, being the only thing I desired. But you,  who I love, endlessly- robbed by it. Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly. Stopped comparing depression to lace, restricted the belief that suicide is poetic, seeing things as they were. More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply. Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes. This world is not tender. II. Sad. I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral, knowing how many bouquets honored you that day. split open my veins like a dimension reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds. My family wondered, can we make it through another day? Death scares me for what it has taken, yet, I’m not afraid to die- it’s all I deserve. So I await the day pain erupts from my throat, acknowledging the days a soul lived inside of my body- footprints that walked, belonging to me. But I learned so well. How to suffer with a smile, dreading the beating of my heart how unfair— I don’t want to take these deep breaths You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed. III. Jokes played by the universe. punchlines delivered, how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself? How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets, and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them? How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought- of knowing people would thrive without me, or the power of a belly laugh, resembling a laugh track audience drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
0
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
nucherub
Writing Suicide Notes In Gel Pen
Clothes have outgrown me many times over, but this sadness never does. One size. fits all. There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you. Wishing these slits within my skin could have been replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.” My name causes a sigh to escape from lips, that do not feel like they belong to me, the girl, whose words always had to be special. The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain, born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child. Never trusting time due to what it delivers. Death, being the only thing I desired. But you,  who I love, endlessly- robbed by it. Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly. Stopped comparing depression to lace, restricted the belief that suicide is poetic, seeing things as they were. More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply. Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes. This world is not tender. II. Sad. I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral, knowing how many bouquets honored you that day. split open my veins like a dimension reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds. My family wondered, can we make it through another day? Death scares me for what it has taken, yet, I’m not afraid to die- it’s all I deserve. So I await the day pain erupts from my throat, acknowledging the days a soul lived inside of my body- footprints that walked, belonging to me. But I learned so well. How to suffer with a smile, dreading the beating of my heart how unfair— I don’t want to take these deep breaths You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed. III. Jokes played by the universe. punchlines delivered, how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself? How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets, and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them? How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought- of knowing people would thrive without me, or the power of a belly laugh, resembling a laugh track audience drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
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60
Flickering light, images flow by of cats and vamps and wolves on the sly the undead tango with the dead oh.. the books I have not read. When something happens, something small turns the whole place withall popcorn doesn't pop no more it's all a matter of blood and gore. For when in the jungle, the quiet jungle the lion roars tonight the baser beasts fail to mingle and move out of MY sight!
0
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
vivek-mukherjee
The Quiet Jungle
Flickering light, images flow by of cats and vamps and wolves on the sly the undead tango with the dead oh.. the books I have not read. When something happens, something small turns the whole place withall popcorn doesn't pop no more it's all a matter of blood and gore. For when in the jungle, the quiet jungle the lion roars tonight the baser beasts fail to mingle and move out of MY sight!
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12
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ ! ☻
0
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
connecthook
Ω Gothic Postcard Ω
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ ! ☻
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5
*Lydia, Lydia, There are broken angels beneath your skin. Your face is stone, and white as snow, where the color should have been. Your husband is by your side, middle school passion left undead. Your sister over your right shoulder, smiling like the day you wed. You don't hear Zach's talk of cereals, but a tight smile shows on your face. The greif streaked grime of tears and salt rims your neck like wedding lace. Tomorrow you will rise and pour milk into your bowl. Look across the table, just to feel your crushing soul. To not see the eyes that were there for twenty years. To share no more secrets, or confide her sisterly fears. You both spent your life devoted to three hundred sixty-five words of repiticious hope. Only to wake up with the flipping of a page, to find a car bent in ash and smoke. This hollow eyed shell I saw in the store clenched her teeth up tight, to suffer along like the people of The Book, and hold Faith to Father of Light. You made me shed tears for you, Madison, because you made me come to see I would never leave my little sister By any of my own means. I felt cheated for you, so joyous in your Word. To spread the light of God to every part of Earth. But now you are away, taking flight, still this young. I go home with knotted throat, and my eyes felling as if theyd been stung. I've been thinking of you both, Sisters, by blood and faith. I'm so sorry for your loss, the unknowing, all the rage. I weep for you, dear Madison. You lived only in a blink. But I weep for you still more, Lydia. And I pray that you won't sink.*
0
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
two-parts-of-a-broken-heart
Lydia.
*Lydia, Lydia, There are broken angels beneath your skin. Your face is stone, and white as snow, where the color should have been. Your husband is by your side, middle school passion left undead. Your sister over your right shoulder, smiling like the day you wed. You don't hear Zach's talk of cereals, but a tight smile shows on your face. The greif streaked grime of tears and salt rims your neck like wedding lace. Tomorrow you will rise and pour milk into your bowl. Look across the table, just to feel your crushing soul. To not see the eyes that were there for twenty years. To share no more secrets, or confide her sisterly fears. You both spent your life devoted to three hundred sixty-five words of repiticious hope. Only to wake up with the flipping of a page, to find a car bent in ash and smoke. This hollow eyed shell I saw in the store clenched her teeth up tight, to suffer along like the people of The Book, and hold Faith to Father of Light. You made me shed tears for you, Madison, because you made me come to see I would never leave my little sister By any of my own means. I felt cheated for you, so joyous in your Word. To spread the light of God to every part of Earth. But now you are away, taking flight, still this young. I go home with knotted throat, and my eyes felling as if theyd been stung. I've been thinking of you both, Sisters, by blood and faith. I'm so sorry for your loss, the unknowing, all the rage. I weep for you, dear Madison. You lived only in a blink. But I weep for you still more, Lydia. And I pray that you won't sink.*
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55
"What is a man?! A miserable Pile of Secrets!" he shoutes then he sprung his attack with the holy whip of my ancestors in my hand I intended to make it his epitaph. we battled for hours on end, using holy water and dodging fireballs that would've meant my doom when I had him beaten, he transformed into a grotesque demon which also distorted the room I didn't know which I was battling, my own head or Count Vlad Tepes Dracul Anyway, after one final strike, The Undead terror had finally been slain I hoped and prayed that no-one would ever speak his name
0
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
neroameealucard
Nocturne In The Moonlight
"What is a man?! A miserable Pile of Secrets!" he shoutes then he sprung his attack with the holy whip of my ancestors in my hand I intended to make it his epitaph. we battled for hours on end, using holy water and dodging fireballs that would've meant my doom when I had him beaten, he transformed into a grotesque demon which also distorted the room I didn't know which I was battling, my own head or Count Vlad Tepes Dracul Anyway, after one final strike, The Undead terror had finally been slain I hoped and prayed that no-one would ever speak his name
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12
I am scared But not of the monster under my bed. But not of the undead. But not of the demon in the hallway. But not of the aliens in outer space doing the nae nae. But not of the ghost in the boathouse. But not of the bugs on my blouse. But not of the scars on my wrists. But not of the hurt that, in my heart, exists. But not of the ability to get the flu. But if how much I love you.
0
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
chasingstars
cowardice
I am scared But not of the monster under my bed. But not of the undead. But not of the demon in the hallway. But not of the aliens in outer space doing the nae nae. But not of the ghost in the boathouse. But not of the bugs on my blouse. But not of the scars on my wrists. But not of the hurt that, in my heart, exists. But not of the ability to get the flu. But if how much I love you.
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11
I hate zombies they are the infantile enemy the foe against which there is     no guilt the essential         human questions of right of wrong   of morality never apply to the cerebellum-craving undead.  It's us or them    hunt or be hunted    **** or be killed they are enemies that fail to       challenge    our notions of what it is    to be us give me a werewolf any day or rather - any moon the tortured lycanthrope    forces the protagonist to choose to **** because     unlike zombies there's always    a chance    however small    that a werewolf can find redemption
0
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
ron-sparks
I Hate Zombies
I hate zombies they are the infantile enemy the foe against which there is     no guilt the essential         human questions of right of wrong   of morality never apply to the cerebellum-craving undead.  It's us or them    hunt or be hunted    **** or be killed they are enemies that fail to       challenge    our notions of what it is    to be us give me a werewolf any day or rather - any moon the tortured lycanthrope    forces the protagonist to choose to **** because     unlike zombies there's always    a chance    however small    that a werewolf can find redemption
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28
I think I figured something out Math teachers are, well, Vampires They find pleasure in ******* your soul out Slowly draining the life out of you By making you do countless Long and complex equations Until you are simply put, A mindless zombie under their command Just one of many in their legion of the undead Continuously reciting number after number nineteen, seven, thirty-two, twenty-five x squared minus nine equals twelve His unchanging face, fangs and perfect teeth Of course don't help his case very much They just help me prove that math teachers Are infact, Vampires
0
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
AlexxStars
Thoughts in math class
I think I figured something out Math teachers are, well, Vampires They find pleasure in ******* your soul out Slowly draining the life out of you By making you do countless Long and complex equations Until you are simply put, A mindless zombie under their command Just one of many in their legion of the undead Continuously reciting number after number nineteen, seven, thirty-two, twenty-five x squared minus nine equals twelve His unchanging face, fangs and perfect teeth Of course don't help his case very much They just help me prove that math teachers Are infact, Vampires
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17
my turtle doves are pondering the broth of my head space. tingling. they gibberish the nest and lay eggs of dragons that still believe in dragons. they wish for thick lightning in the lustrous void. they beak the shell of no made thing. the Eternal Hum. the one Always that had Never Begun. Only Ever, Ever Been. and That's  It's Name. my turtle doves are robbing the bog of it's undead wyrms. they swoop in the morning. down down down to the gamma ray golf course lawns of our suburban necrophilia. the one with the empty dreams in their peanut butter stars. the one with the eggshell Camary Toyotas and the delinquent epiphanies. n' more ice cream than Ben n' Gerry's Wet Dream of Selling More ******* ice cream than You can Imagine. Plus One. my turtle doves are holding me hostage. in the dizzy breach. of god's contract. a damp shade of misspent youth. the Old Way. seasoned by the Eons and the swollen Love of the First Love. engorged in the Kingdom of Desire like a fat mosquito. Sated on  Cyclopian  forearms. and the shoulders of Giants on a small blue world in your mouth. just sayin'.
0
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
third-eye-candy
My Turtle Doves Are Pondering The Broth
my turtle doves are pondering the broth of my head space. tingling. they gibberish the nest and lay eggs of dragons that still believe in dragons. they wish for thick lightning in the lustrous void. they beak the shell of no made thing. the Eternal Hum. the one Always that had Never Begun. Only Ever, Ever Been. and That's  It's Name. my turtle doves are robbing the bog of it's undead wyrms. they swoop in the morning. down down down to the gamma ray golf course lawns of our suburban necrophilia. the one with the empty dreams in their peanut butter stars. the one with the eggshell Camary Toyotas and the delinquent epiphanies. n' more ice cream than Ben n' Gerry's Wet Dream of Selling More ******* ice cream than You can Imagine. Plus One. my turtle doves are holding me hostage. in the dizzy breach. of god's contract. a damp shade of misspent youth. the Old Way. seasoned by the Eons and the swollen Love of the First Love. engorged in the Kingdom of Desire like a fat mosquito. Sated on  Cyclopian  forearms. and the shoulders of Giants on a small blue world in your mouth. just sayin'.
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30
the glockenspiel of our daily raid of sewers in heaven and our Jovian dwarves appalling the rapturous capacity of forever and ever. the kooky jingle of our serpents, darning socks for the antichrist and our elaborate rats. the simple maze of our condition in the hell were at. the creaking gate to a twilight and a lost chapter marooned on an island of undead Librarians. starving for brains tardy with the Harold Robins knife in red breast.
0
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
third-eye-candy
Trump And Annoy
the glockenspiel of our daily raid of sewers in heaven and our Jovian dwarves appalling the rapturous capacity of forever and ever. the kooky jingle of our serpents, darning socks for the antichrist and our elaborate rats. the simple maze of our condition in the hell were at. the creaking gate to a twilight and a lost chapter marooned on an island of undead Librarians. starving for brains tardy with the Harold Robins knife in red breast.
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14
I spent years of my life in a fantasy world. Well. Lots of fantasy worlds. My clothes were cooler Voice smoother Choices simpler. You finish quests, unlock gods, Slay dragons . When my DnD group broke up I thought: If I'm not the gnome bard or the elven ranger or the dwarven barbarian Who am I? The answer: I'm the kid, Who was doodling demons in the corners of classrooms. Who didn't quite make it through the pacer test in one peice. Who spoke up a little too loud about religion and not loud enough about being bullied. Who didn't have party's to go to because he was to busy with his party of heroes. Who will I be now? I can write my charecter sheet however I want too. Natural Twenty on my charisma Critical hit my failures Damage reduction on Haters. In real life, I paint my face on blank canvas I have one simple goal. I want to levitate slightly off of the ground While summoning an undead army and shooting fireballs from the sky. I might not get there. I'll be ****** though, if I don't roll for it.
0
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
GeekElement
ReRoll
I spent years of my life in a fantasy world. Well. Lots of fantasy worlds. My clothes were cooler Voice smoother Choices simpler. You finish quests, unlock gods, Slay dragons . When my DnD group broke up I thought: If I'm not the gnome bard or the elven ranger or the dwarven barbarian Who am I? The answer: I'm the kid, Who was doodling demons in the corners of classrooms. Who didn't quite make it through the pacer test in one peice. Who spoke up a little too loud about religion and not loud enough about being bullied. Who didn't have party's to go to because he was to busy with his party of heroes. Who will I be now? I can write my charecter sheet however I want too. Natural Twenty on my charisma Critical hit my failures Damage reduction on Haters. In real life, I paint my face on blank canvas I have one simple goal. I want to levitate slightly off of the ground While summoning an undead army and shooting fireballs from the sky. I might not get there. I'll be ****** though, if I don't roll for it.
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27
My last neighbours made no noise at all never knew they were there. But they passed away completely quiet nothing to disturb me. It did not last a new neighbour arrived my tranquillity deprived! At first not much sound came from next door hoping it would quieten down. Then louder noises emanated in the wall hammering sounds too. Worried I knocked their door to complain from anger I tried to refrain! Never a reply but a lot of vehicles came after dark many arrived and went. Few if any ever during those daylight hours when black curtains were shut. A nasty smell started to make me feel ill something burnt on a grill! I hadn't believed in vampires until the neighbour moved in next door! From then on my windows stayed tightly shut who would believe me? No animals came near which was a good thing but what would the future bring? The noises got worse even afraid to sleep an atmosphere so grim! In the end I had to leave while I could as people began to disappear! I knew what my neighbour was next to me but would they let me be? For a long time after I saw bats above my head was it my neighbour one of the undead? The Foureyed Poet.
0
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
malcolm-terence-gould
The New Neighbour
My last neighbours made no noise at all never knew they were there. But they passed away completely quiet nothing to disturb me. It did not last a new neighbour arrived my tranquillity deprived! At first not much sound came from next door hoping it would quieten down. Then louder noises emanated in the wall hammering sounds too. Worried I knocked their door to complain from anger I tried to refrain! Never a reply but a lot of vehicles came after dark many arrived and went. Few if any ever during those daylight hours when black curtains were shut. A nasty smell started to make me feel ill something burnt on a grill! I hadn't believed in vampires until the neighbour moved in next door! From then on my windows stayed tightly shut who would believe me? No animals came near which was a good thing but what would the future bring? The noises got worse even afraid to sleep an atmosphere so grim! In the end I had to leave while I could as people began to disappear! I knew what my neighbour was next to me but would they let me be? For a long time after I saw bats above my head was it my neighbour one of the undead? The Foureyed Poet.
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33
Count Dracula lives in my attic and he has a casket for a bed. He has bitten all of my family members and they're undead. I've told many people but they don't believe my texts. All of my family members are vampires and I'm next. Dracula prowls during the night and returns before sunrise. My family prowls with him but people think I'm telling lies. I've kept the vampires away so far by locking my door and wearing garlic. They haven't bitten me yet because they fear that I will make them sick. I fear that sooner or later, I will be turned into a vampire. I've looked online but I can't find a monster killer to hire. I'm sick of hiding like a coward, I've had all that I can take. I found a knife and I just got done carving a wooden stake. Dracula is pounding very hard, he's trying to break down my door. He has succeeded but I stabbed him through the heart and he just hit the floor. Because Dracula was the original vampire, my family has died as well. I feel so calm and relaxed because my life will no longer be a living hell.
0
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
randy-johnson
Count Dracula
Count Dracula lives in my attic and he has a casket for a bed. He has bitten all of my family members and they're undead. I've told many people but they don't believe my texts. All of my family members are vampires and I'm next. Dracula prowls during the night and returns before sunrise. My family prowls with him but people think I'm telling lies. I've kept the vampires away so far by locking my door and wearing garlic. They haven't bitten me yet because they fear that I will make them sick. I fear that sooner or later, I will be turned into a vampire. I've looked online but I can't find a monster killer to hire. I'm sick of hiding like a coward, I've had all that I can take. I found a knife and I just got done carving a wooden stake. Dracula is pounding very hard, he's trying to break down my door. He has succeeded but I stabbed him through the heart and he just hit the floor. Because Dracula was the original vampire, my family has died as well. I feel so calm and relaxed because my life will no longer be a living hell.
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16
i am abrasive personality functionality deficit yet i attract beautiful women to befriend the hermit of solidarity will you go out with me brought answers on no my friend i could not lose yet for the end of altruistic bargaining i end up ahead with false promises of a beginning to an end my own personal apocalypse david lee roth would understand that as i write in this mindset brought on by reading 778 comics in 12 hours and a 4 day binge of job for a cowboy my mind wanders as insomnia sets in would i be one of the great dissociative poets? a dose of the unrequited free associative minds free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries my mind wanders and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band suckers i win for you all know the taste of yellow mustard ramble ramble ramble this indie pop poem would it be ironic to like it if one truly hates the wording and yet loves the idea one of lives greatest life mysteries alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome nimble bubblegum monkey wrench how long will you read? enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure or that i am a flawed creation going on and on about existential non existent problems for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake i am done
0
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
ben-2
***
i am abrasive personality functionality deficit yet i attract beautiful women to befriend the hermit of solidarity will you go out with me brought answers on no my friend i could not lose yet for the end of altruistic bargaining i end up ahead with false promises of a beginning to an end my own personal apocalypse david lee roth would understand that as i write in this mindset brought on by reading 778 comics in 12 hours and a 4 day binge of job for a cowboy my mind wanders as insomnia sets in would i be one of the great dissociative poets? a dose of the unrequited free associative minds free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries my mind wanders and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band suckers i win for you all know the taste of yellow mustard ramble ramble ramble this indie pop poem would it be ironic to like it if one truly hates the wording and yet loves the idea one of lives greatest life mysteries alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome nimble bubblegum monkey wrench how long will you read? enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure or that i am a flawed creation going on and on about existential non existent problems for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake i am done
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49
I was bitten by a Werewolf and now I'm undead. I was a mortal man but now I'm immortal instead. I'm responsible for many deaths because I'm a Wolfman. Many people have tried to **** me but they never can. They never use silver bullets when they fire their guns. People can never escape even though they try to run. When I change back to human, I'm covered in blood and gore. I want somebody to use a silver bullet, I can't take it anymore. I can see that the moon is full tonight as I look up at the sky. I'm about to become the Wolfman and more people will die. Unless somebody does what is needed, things will get worse. Somebody must use a silver bullet and end this horrible curse.
0
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
randy-johnson
Curse of The Werewolf
I was bitten by a Werewolf and now I'm undead. I was a mortal man but now I'm immortal instead. I'm responsible for many deaths because I'm a Wolfman. Many people have tried to **** me but they never can. They never use silver bullets when they fire their guns. People can never escape even though they try to run. When I change back to human, I'm covered in blood and gore. I want somebody to use a silver bullet, I can't take it anymore. I can see that the moon is full tonight as I look up at the sky. I'm about to become the Wolfman and more people will die. Unless somebody does what is needed, things will get worse. Somebody must use a silver bullet and end this horrible curse.
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12
Little Box talks back With a new set of teeth And pink gums A fake nose and a wax mustache She disguises her voice To sound like Groucho • Little Box opens up And cries to her psychiatrist I don’t know why they hate me I’m such a sweetheart I volunteer at the zoo And teach Mandarin To their bratty children • Little Box is not happy to see you So she closes herself up for months Years, decades, and two millennia! She tacks up a sign that says Nirvana • Little Box is undead She sleeps all day in a coffin Hands over chest At night she cruises the mall For juicy victims She prefers type A But AB if she has to What can you say Vampires can’t be choosy She likes your stupid brother • Little Box is on the psychiatry couch Everybody hates me Nobody loves me Little Box lies on her side And spills her guts • What’s in Little Box A perfect orchid A chocolate-covered strawberry A new iPhone With a glittery sleeve Amber earrings from Pushkin Keys to a new Porsche A retro Chanel brooch A Getty scion’s left ear A Czar’s ***** Gifts so rare Please don’t stare • What’s in Little Box Rancid chow mein A sliver of cold pizza Last week’s hummus You’re a starving orphan From East Brooklyn And you’ll eat it • So you want to **** Little Box You want to know her secret She won’t open up She won’t give it up And you are genuinely repelled By her filthy ribbon • You want to DO the Little Box You are a sorry story You big creep Why don’t you get off the couch and find A real girlfriend! • Boss Box White, square, and without a soul! • Please don’t analyze Little Box She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill Her mother Precious Jade Purse Has been regifted
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Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
st64
Little Box Opens Up -- by MARILYN CHIN
Little Box talks back With a new set of teeth And pink gums A fake nose and a wax mustache She disguises her voice To sound like Groucho • Little Box opens up And cries to her psychiatrist I don’t know why they hate me I’m such a sweetheart I volunteer at the zoo And teach Mandarin To their bratty children • Little Box is not happy to see you So she closes herself up for months Years, decades, and two millennia! She tacks up a sign that says Nirvana • Little Box is undead She sleeps all day in a coffin Hands over chest At night she cruises the mall For juicy victims She prefers type A But AB if she has to What can you say Vampires can’t be choosy She likes your stupid brother • Little Box is on the psychiatry couch Everybody hates me Nobody loves me Little Box lies on her side And spills her guts • What’s in Little Box A perfect orchid A chocolate-covered strawberry A new iPhone With a glittery sleeve Amber earrings from Pushkin Keys to a new Porsche A retro Chanel brooch A Getty scion’s left ear A Czar’s ***** Gifts so rare Please don’t stare • What’s in Little Box Rancid chow mein A sliver of cold pizza Last week’s hummus You’re a starving orphan From East Brooklyn And you’ll eat it • So you want to **** Little Box You want to know her secret She won’t open up She won’t give it up And you are genuinely repelled By her filthy ribbon • You want to DO the Little Box You are a sorry story You big creep Why don’t you get off the couch and find A real girlfriend! • Boss Box White, square, and without a soul! • Please don’t analyze Little Box She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill Her mother Precious Jade Purse Has been regifted
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80
Favoritism, what a great way to treat kids Pick your favorite, forget the others Make them hate themselves Let them cry alone in the night The twinkle in the eyes, The twinkle that shows pride How that mere thing can be something for which a man yearns the most He'll never have that twinkle He'll never make anyone proud Pretend they don't exist They start to believe it They begin to bleed just for someone to notice No one loves enough to stop the bleeding Insult after insult They hide the bruises The cracks it makes on the soul No one sees them drown in their depression Parents leaving when children start to die Returning to find the undead The gods of the past The protectors of the young They are not God So ask Him for forgiveness Notice who they've become See their marks See that fire that makes them fight The pain didn't shatter them Just left them forever scarred
0
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
javier-garza
Favoritism
Favoritism, what a great way to treat kids Pick your favorite, forget the others Make them hate themselves Let them cry alone in the night The twinkle in the eyes, The twinkle that shows pride How that mere thing can be something for which a man yearns the most He'll never have that twinkle He'll never make anyone proud Pretend they don't exist They start to believe it They begin to bleed just for someone to notice No one loves enough to stop the bleeding Insult after insult They hide the bruises The cracks it makes on the soul No one sees them drown in their depression Parents leaving when children start to die Returning to find the undead The gods of the past The protectors of the young They are not God So ask Him for forgiveness Notice who they've become See their marks See that fire that makes them fight The pain didn't shatter them Just left them forever scarred
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28
I won't mind being surreal, if you won't scurry seeing me in my real self, and kind enough not to think of me as outlandish as something like 'Shrodinger's cat' kept in a box that is both alive and dead! (to the universe outside the box as the' Copenhagen interpretation' implies, dont ask me how!) I am least interested in'quantum entanglement' which i can do without, but oh! mathematics that mother of all sciences is hell bent, it seems to hunt me down till I say uncle. They have  told me , what I am now is not mathematically possible! (whatever it means) They looked at me as if I don't exist. (Oh! my poor Shrodinger's cat I now understand your plight; oh ! to be both dead and  'undead' theoretically when reality chooses to go naked!) I just said this: I have no use to mathematics that refuses to believe in me if maths find me unacceptable all I want to say is this, how would maths even touch poetry with a barge pole? and don't forget, maths creates the poetry of the universe! **Oh! I am confused forgive me for being Buridan's *** that sees in maths 'Shrodinger's cat'** They looked horrified and in a moment turned to thick smoke and dissolved!
0
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
k-balachandran
Please believe in non- mathematical me
I won't mind being surreal, if you won't scurry seeing me in my real self, and kind enough not to think of me as outlandish as something like 'Shrodinger's cat' kept in a box that is both alive and dead! (to the universe outside the box as the' Copenhagen interpretation' implies, dont ask me how!) I am least interested in'quantum entanglement' which i can do without, but oh! mathematics that mother of all sciences is hell bent, it seems to hunt me down till I say uncle. They have  told me , what I am now is not mathematically possible! (whatever it means) They looked at me as if I don't exist. (Oh! my poor Shrodinger's cat I now understand your plight; oh ! to be both dead and  'undead' theoretically when reality chooses to go naked!) I just said this: I have no use to mathematics that refuses to believe in me if maths find me unacceptable all I want to say is this, how would maths even touch poetry with a barge pole? and don't forget, maths creates the poetry of the universe! **Oh! I am confused forgive me for being Buridan's *** that sees in maths 'Shrodinger's cat'** They looked horrified and in a moment turned to thick smoke and dissolved!
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39
There was a light I was trying to find in the darkness to which I was consigned when I saw your candle floating in the nether until then I thought I might be blind succumbing to a manic mind once we got together a most glorious endeavor for a bit of time things couldn't get better then everything died. I saw a soul in a machine I saw more than you'd believe just from your candle glow just before the wind would blow I'd see you twisting in gusts blistering before taking off like a kite flying into the perilous night. You left me hanging like the voluminous cumulus clouds above me looking so lovely thunder banging becoming a sun screen and it won't stop raining inching into the umpteens with no way of draining and me still looking for something. I guess I shouldn't be so easily triggered knowing the time we spent was just for rent my text no longer says sent but delivered so I wonder where you went leaving me here to wither I thought you were a giver but now I lie alone to shiver in the cold draft of my bedroom your presence in my head looms like an undead's tomb living without life just dread and doom without you just maybe mights through Hades nights with heavy gloom under a shady kite for which I've lost the handle I was looking for light and you gave me just a candle.
0
Mar 26, 2022
Mar 26, 2022 at 4:10 AM UTC
andrew-rueter
Candle
There was a light I was trying to find in the darkness to which I was consigned when I saw your candle floating in the nether until then I thought I might be blind succumbing to a manic mind once we got together a most glorious endeavor for a bit of time things couldn't get better then everything died. I saw a soul in a machine I saw more than you'd believe just from your candle glow just before the wind would blow I'd see you twisting in gusts blistering before taking off like a kite flying into the perilous night. You left me hanging like the voluminous cumulus clouds above me looking so lovely thunder banging becoming a sun screen and it won't stop raining inching into the umpteens with no way of draining and me still looking for something. I guess I shouldn't be so easily triggered knowing the time we spent was just for rent my text no longer says sent but delivered so I wonder where you went leaving me here to wither I thought you were a giver but now I lie alone to shiver in the cold draft of my bedroom your presence in my head looms like an undead's tomb living without life just dread and doom without you just maybe mights through Hades nights with heavy gloom under a shady kite for which I've lost the handle I was looking for light and you gave me just a candle.
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50
[Crime-scene. Time ceases to exist for YOU, the necrophile. YOU are on top of the corpse.] YOU: Cadaver, corpse, a body's just a body and yes, I'm guilty, sleeping with the dead it loves me, then it doesn't love me.                                                               [Beat] The rosary you must! To rest in peace, so transfigure me baby while warm on my bed. Cadaver, corpse, a body's still a body. Indulge me; martyr to your livid beads please intercede for me, oh, please I beg for it loves me, then it doesn't love me.                                                               [Beat] Now shall I exorcise you; set you free, from the purgatory found between my legs? My body, yours a corpse, but still a body, And when your sinews loosen, skin erased by time who shows no mercy for the dead, will you still love me then, or won't you?                                                               [Beat] To resurrect is daunting, but you shall have the body that my kiss declares undead. Cadaver, corpse, a body's just a body, which loves me, 'til it doesn't love me.                                                               [Exeunt]
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Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC
cvlaurena
The Necrophile's Soliloquy
[Crime-scene. Time ceases to exist for YOU, the necrophile. YOU are on top of the corpse.] YOU: Cadaver, corpse, a body's just a body and yes, I'm guilty, sleeping with the dead it loves me, then it doesn't love me.                                                               [Beat] The rosary you must! To rest in peace, so transfigure me baby while warm on my bed. Cadaver, corpse, a body's still a body. Indulge me; martyr to your livid beads please intercede for me, oh, please I beg for it loves me, then it doesn't love me.                                                               [Beat] Now shall I exorcise you; set you free, from the purgatory found between my legs? My body, yours a corpse, but still a body, And when your sinews loosen, skin erased by time who shows no mercy for the dead, will you still love me then, or won't you?                                                               [Beat] To resurrect is daunting, but you shall have the body that my kiss declares undead. Cadaver, corpse, a body's just a body, which loves me, 'til it doesn't love me.                                                               [Exeunt]
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26
Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its knees Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas The winder of the water-clocks Calls a green day and night. My sea hermaphrodite, Snail of man in His ship of fires That burn the bitten decks, Knew all His horrible desires The climber of the water *** Calls the green rock of light. Who in these labyrinths, This tidethread and the lane of scales, Twine in a moon-blown shell, Escapes to the flat cities' sails Furled on the fishes' house and hell, Nor falls to His green myths? Stretch the salt photographs, The landscape grief, love in His oils Mirror from man to whale That the green child see like a grail Through veil and fin and fire and coil Time on the canvas paths. He films my vanity. Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs, Over the water come Children from homes and children's parks Who speak on a finger and thumb, And the masked, headless boy. His reels and mystery The winder of the clockwise scene Wound like a ball of lakes Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen Love's image till my heartbone breaks By a dramatic sea. Who kills my history? The year-hedged row is lame with flint, Blunt scythe and water blade. 'Who could snap off the shapeless print From your to-morrow-treading shade With oracle for eye?' Time kills me terribly. 'Time shall not ****** you,' He said, 'Nor the green nought be hurt; Who could hack out your unsucked heart, O green and unborn and undead?' I saw time ****** me.
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2.5k
Dylan Thomas
Then Was My Neophyte
Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its knees Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas The winder of the water-clocks Calls a green day and night. My sea hermaphrodite, Snail of man in His ship of fires That burn the bitten decks, Knew all His horrible desires The climber of the water *** Calls the green rock of light. Who in these labyrinths, This tidethread and the lane of scales, Twine in a moon-blown shell, Escapes to the flat cities' sails Furled on the fishes' house and hell, Nor falls to His green myths? Stretch the salt photographs, The landscape grief, love in His oils Mirror from man to whale That the green child see like a grail Through veil and fin and fire and coil Time on the canvas paths. He films my vanity. Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs, Over the water come Children from homes and children's parks Who speak on a finger and thumb, And the masked, headless boy. His reels and mystery The winder of the clockwise scene Wound like a ball of lakes Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen Love's image till my heartbone breaks By a dramatic sea. Who kills my history? The year-hedged row is lame with flint, Blunt scythe and water blade. 'Who could snap off the shapeless print From your to-morrow-treading shade With oracle for eye?' Time kills me terribly. 'Time shall not ****** you,' He said, 'Nor the green nought be hurt; Who could hack out your unsucked heart, O green and unborn and undead?' I saw time ****** me.
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48
My tongue shakes to the rhythm of the undead It's useless praying against all that I said You end up unscarred 0% alive For people you end up dead just another stone named R.I.P. No words of apology to help you through Heaven awaits in vain, as Hell beckons you Bargaining your life on both hand sides Hell pays more than what Heaven calls most Greedy as you are you choose the dark side Rotting as Satan laughs and tortures you Came to realize a mistake was made Fruitlessly awaiting nothing for all the sins you repented Shackled to doom, your life wasn't yours anymore You wondered what worse yet was still in store You beg to my feet to appeal to the Lord You throw your hands in despair as I see you burn, with glee Why should I help you when I had been through the same in history?
0
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
diabolic-preacher
Diabolic Preacher ... As Is, Was & Will Be
My tongue shakes to the rhythm of the undead It's useless praying against all that I said You end up unscarred 0% alive For people you end up dead just another stone named R.I.P. No words of apology to help you through Heaven awaits in vain, as Hell beckons you Bargaining your life on both hand sides Hell pays more than what Heaven calls most Greedy as you are you choose the dark side Rotting as Satan laughs and tortures you Came to realize a mistake was made Fruitlessly awaiting nothing for all the sins you repented Shackled to doom, your life wasn't yours anymore You wondered what worse yet was still in store You beg to my feet to appeal to the Lord You throw your hands in despair as I see you burn, with glee Why should I help you when I had been through the same in history?
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17
This icy morning chills me No warmth for my bones Just frozen touches of misery Wind like a Banshee moans Bitter thoughts in my head No one to ever tenderly want For I am one with the undead As this torment continues to haunt If only love could come my way Temptation to warm this soul Someone to show hope this day To allow my lost emotions flow
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Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Darkpoetsoul
513: Cold Soul
This icy morning chills me No warmth for my bones Just frozen touches of misery Wind like a Banshee moans Bitter thoughts in my head No one to ever tenderly want For I am one with the undead As this torment continues to haunt If only love could come my way Temptation to warm this soul Someone to show hope this day To allow my lost emotions flow
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12
If there was a Medal worn on your Neck Un-Commissioned by any Metal or Cast Was one Purple Flag which many would respect But worry on how your ****** will last Such Flag just stood by, waiting for Salute, Open-palm-right timed to Shots Twenty-One Take it or leave it; Your Brand absolute Better to change Clothes than survive with none What Concern, Sir, does my own interfere If Bland Words tweeted are Letters unread Folly how your Cousin charges me here To assume such Feelings are most undead. He thinks of the Separate and Exist And so do you, which you tend to Resist.
0
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
xavier-paolo-josh-mandreza
SONNET TRIBUTE SUNDRY - FIFTY-SEVEN - TOM DALEY
If there was a Medal worn on your Neck Un-Commissioned by any Metal or Cast Was one Purple Flag which many would respect But worry on how your ****** will last Such Flag just stood by, waiting for Salute, Open-palm-right timed to Shots Twenty-One Take it or leave it; Your Brand absolute Better to change Clothes than survive with none What Concern, Sir, does my own interfere If Bland Words tweeted are Letters unread Folly how your Cousin charges me here To assume such Feelings are most undead. He thinks of the Separate and Exist And so do you, which you tend to Resist.
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14