"unsaturated" poems
24 hour sign posted outside of the over night pharmacy in a town
where it seems to be night the majority of the time
he sits in his room and counts the cars that hiss by his window
anxiety starts at his feet,
and numbs them as it makes its way up to his neck
and strangles him in the high of another attack
his mind is a galaxy of concoctions
his pain meds, cough syrup, happy pills
swirl around with the blood on the white marble sink
until it creates an unsaturated rainbow of a man's grievances
the 24 hour pharmacy is open
to satisfy your 2 a.m. needs of a fix
when you suddenly decide you can't continue
the 3 a.m. decision to end it all
the 3:30 a.m. promise that maybe if you just get some sleep,
it will go away in the morning
the 4 a.m. insomnia that leads to bloodshot eyes at 5
and the overdose pharmacy will still be there
as you struggle to breathe;
drowning in the ocean you've created
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
the pitch dark symmetry
of spiral engraved
glossy jet black
vinyl
the ***** claws
and webbed spiders;
graced with impeccable
scratch
words come back around
from dog day afternoon;
entwined in ritual
beatology
technique absorbed in prowess
dedication assimilated by passion;
human form and synthetic resin becomes
overlayed
polyvinyl chloride or
unsaturated hydrocarbon radicals;
a derivative by any other
name
I'll leave that nugget for the pub quiz
and relax, post-Christmas stress;
the street scramble bustle,
embrace a pint of
black magic
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
One may be straight
like a saturated fat
One maybe bent
like an unsaturated fat
Or, one could be bent,
disguised as straight
Like a trans fat
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:42 AM UTC
I realize now how hard it is to see through the dark stains that have tainted the past.
How difficult it is to remember how lifted I felt,
how utterly blissful,
how completely cared for.
The delicate words flowing from your fingertips soothed my soul.
Your light filled every crack in my body.
You made my glow.
You made every daunting task,
every mountain I knew I had to climb,
seem as easy as lifting a finger.
With you, I could've changed the sky.
Now, there is dark red pouring over every memory until they've been
completely, and unrecognizably distorted.
Now, they match my own alteration.
I wish I could've kept them the same:
unsaturated, and untouched.
Before, you kept me safe, warm and loved.
Then, you changed. You judged, hurt and broke.
Now, you do nothing.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
i write poetry in fifty seconds or less
sometimes the words taste like salt
and sometimes like maraschino cherries
i wonder if my blood is red or if it's purple
because pain no longer feels like the color red,
it feels like numbness, cold unsaturated color.
red is diamond and fire and volcano
and it doesn't seem fair to call myself eruption.
it would be more accurate to say that i'm sand dune
and flood
and hurricane,
something that doesn't burn painfully
but slowly sinks into your skin
like water
until you breathe in what you thought was air,
but really it's not oxygen anymore,
it's me.
this one tasted like salt.
(a.m.c.)
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
My world is unsaturated
There is no colour
only incoherent sounds and melodies
black and white picture frames
indistinguishable smells and scents
My perception is dimmed
depleted from beauty
it all seems the same
feels the same
smells the same
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC
Unclose my fallen, lost soul,
unclose my greedy, loving mind,
unclose my unsaturated, fastidious heart
with demolition of me on the particles of you,
with your shameless nails under fragments of my skin,
with your hands embracing me in anticipation of fondling,
with your playful mouth saying unprintable suggestions,
with your accelerated breath mixed with my breath,
with tempting taste of your saliva.
Stars in imitation of us kiss one another.
The rays of the moon belong to us.
In the darkness your skin whispers to me its enigmatic metaphors.
We write with touch legend of our bodies.
There is bold discussion between our adorned in sparkling details souls.
Half-embracing we sail to the edge of inspiration hungering hearts.
It's you and me in this sheets, in this bed, in this apartment.
We ran away from the hustle and bustle of the world,
from vulgarity, from obscenity.
We are beyond time , beyond sinfulness.
I have waited for your enticing, alluring gestures
since the first time I saw you.
I paint on your skin in the moonlit glow of my promises.
In your soul I have graven rite of passion of our hearts and bodies.
Everything we do stems from the insatiable hunger avid for ecstatic unity.
My heart tears in chest when I think about long nights
without your lecherous thighs, *******
and soul innocent, tiny like defenseless child.
I've been waiting for you forever .
Now when you are next to me
spring is coming in December
and dead volcano of lust exploded.
I burned past to ashes
and I live staring at the motion of your sensual lips.
Separation atomized with every moment of fiery intimacy.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Dearest infested, do you too reminisce on that fated night,
When the beauty of your unstitched gaps in that storm’s occasional light
Shone brighter than my heart
As I held your severed hand in marriage.
Recall my fingers slipping under those sheets
Aching to pull you closer to me,
So close, I could feel in between your skin and bone
For me to caress your blackened inner soul.
No other will be capable of feeling the softness of your carcass,
Melted on my fingertips, ever so slightly crawling with goosebumps
From the maggots that shift in your decaying tissue,
Eating away at the core of your sweet bloated insides.
On that very bed, you hosted life beyond your bug-infested corpse,
Your unsaturated beauty animating a love as equal to mine
When lightning struck the tower’s wires
And pierced my heart with cupid's bow.
Oh how that shock stung my nerves!
Manipulating my madman mind into a loving machine,
One that could only want for your rotting embrace,
Which leaves the scent of death in every corner of my brain.
Did you notice the way the dark of the room hugged you so modestly,
As if you were already his?
And then you held out a cold hand towards me
Calling for me to put my ring on your delicate finger.
I remember your instantaneous joy,
Curiosity twinkling in your lifeless eyes,
Blushing from a heart pumping spoiled blood through your frozen veins,
And that smile, only a creature inhuman could smile so divine.
You, my sweet, have captured me in your rusted fingertips
And how you carry yourself across the bleeding carpet,
Dragging your decaying remains into my arms,
Making me unable to withstand being without your infected kiss
How irresistible you are before me
Adorned in white sheets, draped across your discolored chest,
Dried blood blanketing the edges of your lips,
A beauty that’ll never age, forever preserved by death himself!
Devour me now, my love!
Take me to the grave you plan to reside
So that I may lay next to you
Six feet under our wedlock.
Sep 4, 2024
Sep 4, 2024 at 12:56 PM UTC
I think I enjoy the pastel colors
That rest upon the wall.
Just floating in soft ease
With colors not too bright.
Sometimes I think
If I was a color,
I would be much too dark
And seldom used
Because of the own
Hue I came acquired to
Through all my experience.
Just painting my whole life thus far
Would seem a waste... I think.
But being so unsaturated seems boring.
I think I enjoy the shades I've mixed
Met, and laughed along with
Even if I doubt it.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
The haunting in my head.
My dream.
The one that stops
My breath.
The feeling
That's left.
Hopeless.
Pure.
Unsaturated.
The words it leaves me.
"I tried to talk."
Repeat.
Over and again.
My dream.
Haunting in my head.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Under touch of your sweet lips I tend to become
light like a feather in the wind of poet's words,
ideas of goodness and beauty,
communion of souls,
love at first sight,
lady at ball of your singing thoughts,
wild appeal of nature of my instincts,
flame of lanterns illuminating imperceptible printing,
baton in hands of conductor absorbed with scores of your words,
peak overlooking creek of sensitive words,
coffee in your cup thirsty for your mouth,
doctrine of the love of God,
exchange of secret informations,
lunar-dating scenario of joint moments,
spell of love put on your mad from sensations soul,
strait connecting the continents of inexpressible feelings of pleasure,
steepest roller coaster of short-sighted thoughts on the run,
the loudest cry for the right to vote on the bond of souls,
the hottest desert crying for rain of sweaty bodies.
I want to dance with you in convulsions of the fullness.
I find my beginning and end in falling in love.
I think about us as ****** art of two met souls.
Write me a thousand fiery love letters
before we disappear from unsaturated cards of infatuation.
Talk to me Shakespearean verses
before we close lips in inspired kiss.
Dazzle nightingale with music of our souls,
before mistuning breaks the song.
Put my every breath in the depths of your arms
before forthcoming dawn of unrestrained passions.
Cry a river over my every angry glance
before ***** of spike of another sleepless night.
Knock on the door of God's heavenly court
before you go down from ecstatic clouds to the ground.
Tell the angels about our eternal love
before they don't protect us from designated mistakes.
Sing with the echo to my dreams
before lonely lullaby of distant places lulls me.
Share with me bread of trust
before loved ones feed with crumbs of our love.
Do not prevail over your raging storm of senses
before my smell disappears behind closed doors.
Avoid presence of doubt in fairies and unicorns
before we get to the promised land.
Dress for me flowery dresses
before greedy ice capture all waters.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
the slit in the curtain
spills out
unhinged light
it's icy and it splatters
across the darkness
like a reflection from a pool.
interrupting
sad eyes and eager hands
holding blades that
shriek in silence.
the cold, unsaturated
light
awakens reality
and quiets shameful
thoughts.
only when the birds sing at night
do we understand
the price it costs
to take one's
own
life
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
My unseen tears
condense onto windowpanes
as they're smashed open by codependent assumptions.
Blinding
blunt force flashlights
shatter sharp shards of light
across the darkest crevices
of my soul.
Impatience
and uncertainty
leads to reactionary behavior.
Do not plant flowers
in the gardens of someone
who cannot take care of their
own plants.
Their soil is unsaturated
with nutrients.
How can you expect to enjoy the fruit of their love?
I am a withered plot.
I am the dead of winter.
No one is interested in how it has died.
They are only upset that they can no longer feed themselves.
What you see is what you get.
and I like to use humans
as rags, scrub 'em in the dirt
and throw them away.
Ha
How can we expect to grow if we cannot bask in each other's fullest glow? We are sunflowers hidden in separate caves, lit with lone candles.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Unsaturated and full of fear
Speaking faintly, consciously
Through these stupid ******* poems
Both of us adore so much
Refreshing every second to see if you have said more
Please say more.
Five fingers clasped hands I held so tightly
That now hold this stupid pen I use to write to you
When will we grasp the courage to speak?
Never will I feel safe to spill onto you
The pool of blood and tears my heart and eyes contain
Why am I still hung up on the very thing that first tied the noose?
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
Home.
A comforting place to be.
For me?
A place where I can't control what I eat.
Where anxiety grows and encompasses all.
Where my mind tries to determine if I can eat anything at all.
Perfect.
This meal isn't perfect, that meal isn't perfect, can I eat any of it?
This is wrong, so horribly wrong. Too many carbs, unsaturated fats.
No junk food, no pizza, no desserts, none of that.
But why?
Why does my mind insist all of it's bad.
As though avoiding cake should make me ecstatically glad.
As though proving my control makes me a better person?
Better person?
All it makes me is mad.
Yet these thoughts don't stop.
Even though they're not true.
If I can't succeed at this,
then at least I have food.
But wait!
An accomplishment, that it is not
Because when you get good at it your brain starts to rot
If that isn't the answer, then tell me what is?
See, that's the problem.
There isn't.
Life has no right or wrong, each decision is one decision.
Extremes are not good.
Restriction is not an accomplishment.
Control is not necessary.
Then why do I crave it?
I crave rules, regulations, please tell me what to do.
I want to be perfect.
And as long as I desire this,
the real me,
whoever that is
wherever she is,
to her prison she is doomed.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Reliability hurts us as it cradles our childhood vices,
dreams blurred and forgotten while the nightmares crept.
I gaze at all my friends while they begin to count their prices,
bags of dust, unsaturated gazes follow - I haven't slept,
My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles.
We feel empty inside as we stare at our devices,
an infinite hoop of dazed talks as the night grows and I wept.
It's what we get for making sacrifices,
I had a golden opportunity and I overslept.
My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles,
weakened wrists, deprived energy while I tighten the ribbon.
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
When you can see the vibrations
On the sanguine strings
When you can soak the sounds
And rinse it from the unsaturated air
When the quiet head fold softly
Falling atop the masters knees without a conscious care
That is when
And their matters not, where
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC
The sunsets are unsaturated,
landscapes lack detail
and my portraits are missing teeth and eyelashes
as a rule, all my art is unfinished
due to the fear of a final product
that is just going to break me
canvas after canvas I collect
overwhelming amounts unfinished work
there's too much disappointment in a finished piece
it's dangerous way to live life
giving up to protect myself
nothing will be as beautiful as what my mind can make up
this is a repeating influence in my life
and satisfaction may never come,
But I am trying to see the beauty in imperfections
So this is a first draft of a poem
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC