"unhealth" poems - Hello Poetry

my barricade has become a prison 4 walls that shrink every day and slowly cut off my oxygen they worked too well i sing to them in a melancholy tone more often heard in the mouths of whales there's a sea of bones and they’re pricking at stray scraps look out there, past where the sky meets the earth if you look hard enough you’ll see it cold and empty and sloshing it calls to me now “leave me now” i say to the space beside me before you go pre-heat the oven to 950 i need a warm place to rest and that sounds about right skeletal hands grip around my expanding skin and pull me down tight tight tight they sew me a corset of my own rough skin teeth flood my throat and scratch at my collarbone self-inflicted sorrow heart disease in a can barreling through my system, how much longer do i got, doc? my bones are unknitting and my brain is unraveling pink tendrils sinking to the bottom of my skull, goodbye little ones, i never did use that much anyways my skin peels beneath my fingers and my light won't turn out 5 am and i'm a halfway alcoholic all i need is the ***** my capillaries have frozen and i'm an ice rink now sliced and diced and punched into shape ready to ride over no words left no line gaps no punctuation who has time for that when they're doing nothing? i haven't eaten in a week and i'm still spewing everywhere pressure points and muscle strands oozing against my frame i can feel all my ribs beneath my hands and the jelly will vaporize and i’ll just soften maybe if i push hard enough the skin around them will shatter and i’ll collapse inward well now it appears that i’ve undone myself

0

Sep 22, 2013

Sep 22, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC

sara-13

unhealth

my barricade has become a prison 4 walls that shrink every day and slowly cut off my oxygen they worked too well i sing to them in a melancholy tone more often heard in the mouths of whales there's a sea of bones and they’re pricking at stray scraps look out there, past where the sky meets the earth if you look hard enough you’ll see it cold and empty and sloshing it calls to me now “leave me now” i say to the space beside me before you go pre-heat the oven to 950 i need a warm place to rest and that sounds about right skeletal hands grip around my expanding skin and pull me down tight tight tight they sew me a corset of my own rough skin teeth flood my throat and scratch at my collarbone self-inflicted sorrow heart disease in a can barreling through my system, how much longer do i got, doc? my bones are unknitting and my brain is unraveling pink tendrils sinking to the bottom of my skull, goodbye little ones, i never did use that much anyways my skin peels beneath my fingers and my light won't turn out 5 am and i'm a halfway alcoholic all i need is the ***** my capillaries have frozen and i'm an ice rink now sliced and diced and punched into shape ready to ride over no words left no line gaps no punctuation who has time for that when they're doing nothing? i haven't eaten in a week and i'm still spewing everywhere pressure points and muscle strands oozing against my frame i can feel all my ribs beneath my hands and the jelly will vaporize and i’ll just soften maybe if i push hard enough the skin around them will shatter and i’ll collapse inward well now it appears that i’ve undone myself

34

A harsh breath ices over my soul which shrivels up but refuses to cease My ruby jewel running a wicked race the end of which is never told The owner of the gust is not me For from the skeletal society it be Someone has died in satisfaction his life taken by asphyxiation A crow comes close by to roost near the man held with the noose Expectations formed a hemp binding Pressure pushed the strings holding Another shattered from hypothermia his mind no longer in hysteria Fangs of a beast cacaphonously crash but soon fade as the man a hash Lack of human warmth drained Pathos of his predicament claimed One more exploded onto cold concrete jumping free from a tight restraint Belligerent buzzing blasts through feeding on crimson blood just drew Endless horizons rest on the tower man consumed by endless power I took my hand and grasped rubber carbon-iron alloy spelling trouble At my chest I flash the deliverer aiming at one who is none the wiser You can hear a thunderclap and the rain for life from this lad has been drain I jest. Human nature dictates we protect even if our minds are not intact My spirit may be wholly extinguished but to the bitter end my flesh pulsated Only in dreams can I **** myself for then I can expose my unhealth

0

Jul 26, 2018

Jul 26, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC

renniedreams

Only in dreams can I **** myself

A harsh breath ices over my soul which shrivels up but refuses to cease My ruby jewel running a wicked race the end of which is never told The owner of the gust is not me For from the skeletal society it be Someone has died in satisfaction his life taken by asphyxiation A crow comes close by to roost near the man held with the noose Expectations formed a hemp binding Pressure pushed the strings holding Another shattered from hypothermia his mind no longer in hysteria Fangs of a beast cacaphonously crash but soon fade as the man a hash Lack of human warmth drained Pathos of his predicament claimed One more exploded onto cold concrete jumping free from a tight restraint Belligerent buzzing blasts through feeding on crimson blood just drew Endless horizons rest on the tower man consumed by endless power I took my hand and grasped rubber carbon-iron alloy spelling trouble At my chest I flash the deliverer aiming at one who is none the wiser You can hear a thunderclap and the rain for life from this lad has been drain I jest. Human nature dictates we protect even if our minds are not intact My spirit may be wholly extinguished but to the bitter end my flesh pulsated Only in dreams can I **** myself for then I can expose my unhealth

37

Spring, that whose every year is its last and whose death always is the promise of its birth: you pink between, you softly to part, you to come of flowers lathered, you are a mystery.A cute curving mystery, of slightly undeath. a curt cutting mystery, of increasing unhealth. you're whose *** the mound of wreaking, the confluence of hips, and the pourn of roses, gardens.

0

Apr 9, 2014

Apr 9, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC

patrick-wakefield-1

Untitled

Spring, that whose every year is its last and whose death always is the promise of its birth: you pink between, you softly to part, you to come of flowers lathered, you are a mystery.A cute curving mystery, of slightly undeath. a curt cutting mystery, of increasing unhealth. you're whose *** the mound of wreaking, the confluence of hips, and the pourn of roses, gardens.

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