"unscrewing" poems
You were a drug to me, babe.
You weren't the medicinal kind either.
You weren't just a painkiller.
You weren't an antidepressant.
You weren't a Xanax.
You weren't ******
You weren't even the good kind of drug.
You weren't ****** or **** or ecstasy.
You were the kind of drug that
messed around with my heart and left my brain feeling clouded.
You were the kind of drug that left me confused and
feeling worse than before I took you.
But I did.
Again and
again.
I told myself I would
break this vicious cycle of unscrewing your cap and
hating myself for it afterwards.
That I wouldn't draw back the plunger and
force you into my veins anymore.
But I didn't.
Again and
again.
I told myself you
would be the death of me.
Every high you gave me left me feeling
lost in the clouds.
I might as well have been
six feet deep.
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 11:14 PM UTC
I take a wrench to each temple
unscrewing bolts used to hold in
the gray and red sediment
pull out a handful, and begin.
Upon the spinning wheel I throw
a formless character yet to be
until I choose which way to go
and become a piece of pottery.
But my mind dances in fragility
so I move my hands deliberately
as to create without any haste
or ruin my clay's graceful shape.
Dissatisfied, I grab a tool and scrape
the useless remains of my broken brain
and throw them back into my skull,
my once sharp mind now completely dull.
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 7:06 PM UTC
Going to sleep isn't hard anymore
I'm so tired of everything that the exhaustion just takes over my body
Because that is where I am supposed to be
I am supposed to be resting in the ground
I am supposed to be gone
Unscrewing a razor from a pencil sharpener is where I am instead
Shoving a toothbrush down my throat
I tried destroying myself completely and it didn't work
people got angry
So instead I will keep going bit by bit until I can finally disappear
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
I wore headphones, sunglasses and masks of malevolence, to bare the barren waste of public transit.
I omit wrong doings, in loosened valves unscrewing under the pressure.
But I often gestured for fire in showers of frozen rain while waiting for a train to come.
I bummed smokes from bums and hustled five quarters from a one, I was stunned in the slump from suburban lives.
Catching buses every morning, and every night.
Three there, and three back.
I was tired of lines, tired of waiting, growing impatient, and empathetically vacant to the vagrant wasteland, just passing through the corner of my eye.
I was lazy and decided to move close to work for a 10 minute walk instead.
Liberated and aware of the massive savings on bus fare.
I lived happily ever after.
The end.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
G'day Chaps and Chick-a-Deez
This Luna-Tick has Awoken (Again!)
And, this Time round,
Will be somewhat Outspoken.
My confidence is up
And doesn't/cannot be deflated;
I'm neither here or there,
But I am under-rated.
To realise is one thing,
To release too soon another:
While I hate the current system,
It both feeds and protects as my Mother.
So...slowly, slowly...and
Breathe deeply...breath deeply;
Let's not get ahead of ourselves
And spoil the fun of the Masses.
I might be an Adept
At Adopting new strategies,
But my personal Evolution - unscrewing -
Entailed my total undoing - Devolution.
The pressure We face when **** hits the wall
Should at least be balanced when we know the score.
So thank you my friends - the Voiceless believers;
I was never going to forget my countless Leaflets.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
"Are you scared?"
She stared into his brown
eyes, forcing him to
see the darkness behind the browns
and greens of hers.
"No".
She placed his hands on
her collar bones,
running them down her shoulder
blades, sticking out like
bird wings,
then over her ribcage,
down to her hips.
"Are you scared now?"
He shook his head.
She stuck her arms out for him
to see,
cuts new and old visible on her
placid wrists.
She took his hand again,
and ran his fingertips over her
wounds.
"Still not scared?"
He refused to answer.
This time, she stepped away,
unscrewing the top from
her head,
releasing her demons into him.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
There loomed a certain belief,
One that exhaled soon as she passed.
A sudden urge that fizzed over soon as the bottle opened.
Now granted you can still drink a soda once it's shaken
Most would replace desire for that of another, the discord
Of being splashed in the face by the very desire one in the same.
Drops of truth splashed everywhere seen as backlash, a sort of wrath
Spoken but never heard.
There was something about the contour of the bottle,
Fixed thoughts filled in ovulation.
Everything kept inside.
A certain vengeance that loomed in bliss.
If not handled carefully doom was immanent.
Each time she walked passed he'd shake the bottle more vigorously.
A cold fizz that quenches every desire steadfast with reality.
Curious he looked at the bottle, wanting to quench this need
He placed his hands on the top slowly unscrewing.
Her eyes connected with his, everything paused.
For the first time in a long time everything was beautiful
Sharing a brief look relaxing his shoulders.
He untwisted the top, for a moment she sighed
Feeling a release she hasn't felt in a long time.
His hand smooth against the contour of the bottle
He placed his lips against the bottle easing her to quench this thirst he's waited so long for.
This urge that dried the well of his throat.
She refused him the pleasure of her, keeping her fizz to herself.
Now he knows what it's like to be on the outside looking in
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
A piece of me died tonight
A physical tearing- The person I once was and the person I am today
I've changed and there's nothing I can do
I thought mothers were supposed to care after their daughters-
Not mine
Tonight, my mother made a choice-
A very definitive one-
Between me and a man
She chose the man
My mother told me that I'd always be her number one
Tonight, she let a man yell at me
Tonight, she let a man hit me
Tonight, she let a man, who is not my father, make me cry
Tonight, she watched a man yell at me, and she sat there
As I saw the violence in his eyes
While she saw the hurt in mine
She chose the man
She later came in my room that night and tried to justify what he'd done
Tried to justify what she had done
"He was just angry"
"You came in at the wrong time"
"You knew better"
But by then it was too late
The separation had already begun
And now I can hear the popping of wine corks
And the sound of a mans fist on my mothers skin
I can hear my sister crying in the room next to me, and I long to hold her
I can hear my dogs yelping and the World stopping
I can hear the unscrewing of a child's lock on a cap of prescription pills,
And I swear to God I can hear the sound of pills being swallowed down my mothers throat
And I have never wished to go deaf before this night
Tonight, my mother chose a man over me
Now its too late for justification,
I have all the answers to anything I'd ever want to know
The confirmation of the fact that I am completely alone-
Is nothing new to me
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
find my voice
box, speak, words
forming and foaming
mouth agape
stunning
stunned
growing
taken root
not withered
withal
without you and
me, with words,
to speak,
words
too.
an inky melody
a heart's rendition of tar
and travelling near
never to lose, to halt,
unscrewing the pen,
snapping
the cartridge
drinking down
words
lips blue
body cold.
if I spat on a tree
would you hear
that melody?
a hundred times
you've told me to
stop-
"your words mean nothing"
and on and on,
but if you could just see
wade through to me
experience what is not
going
on
no lines in the sand
that i don't need to rhyme with
or rewrite
'the wasteland'
then i think
you
would think
more of
this
end, of my end
think more
of our
end in
this
our ending.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
So what will I do
With my heart?
What will I do with it
Today
Or tomorrow,
How much does it owe,
(How much did it borrow?)
Is it daggered into my
Chest with ruby darts?
Is it butcher wrapped
In class-passed
Love notes,
Or shrink wrapped carnations?
Is it waiting around
For the perfect donation?
And what will I do with my head?
Is it getting bigger?
Will it slot into a shelf?
Is it killing me?
Will it fix itself?
What will I do with it
Next week,
Or next year?
Will it be William Blake
Or Edmund Lear?
(MRI:
blooms - blushes – stains,
This boy’s got roses
on the brain!)
And what will I do with my hands?
What will I do with them
For the rest of my days?
Will they stick to my lap?
Will they flutter away?
Will they get even worse
At unscrewing lids?
Will they shake sticks
at the neighbours kids?
What will I do with my body?
Will it see me through?
What will it do with me?
What will it do?
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
I saw it in a magazine,
on a gloomy indoors night.
The art of deconstructing;
I read the article.
It took things apart,
but didn't place them
back together.
Deconstructing,
where taking apart
someone's soul
becomes as easy as
unscrewing a box.
Deconstructing,
we take each part and
lay it tidily over a white table.
And we do too,
deconstruct.
Like children unhappy
of their building blocks masterpiece,
we
fall
apart.
Everything we ever thought
we were comes away
with a blow of the wind.
We dissect our minds,
and become like all the others,
broken,
empty.
We deconstruct and build
ourselves upon society's
stereotypes.
We moun our lawn
of personality,
all of our flowers
gone.
Crushes, smashes,
sounds of death.
We have become
like all the others.
The art of deconstructing,
or as they call it,
the Art of tiding up.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
And I wore a sweater yesterday
But today I bled through my skin,
And in the street today
Shedding of the hearts
Did flood my eyes
And I sniffed back the tears
While unscrewing the dull red bulb.
But I could no longer hold
When you went
And I guess this is it
This is where I end.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
the glinting, shimmering bottles on the shelf seem to be glaring at me
their penetrating stares create a twisted knot of guilt in my stomach
my friends come over, asking and asking for the invisible secrets in the clear glass
I deny their knowledge, another layer of guilt befouling me
a few of them have watched me unscrew my bottles
and they ran from me, as far as they possibly could
but one day,
he comes over to my house
my house with my shelf of glass bottles and quiet old me
he isn't interested in me or my bottles
but I am intrigued by his innovative, analytical presence
so loud and harsh are the colors surrounding him
but they are hiding something, I am sure of it
and suddenly,
a bottle falls out of his aura of light
he reaches down to pick it up hastily,
and looks at me, for my hand is on his fallen bottle
he looks at me with those secretive, manic eyes,
and then looks at the bottles on my shelf
he picks one out, and I let him open it,
for I am gently unscrewing his glass
the secrets fly out of both shining bottles
and enter the jars of our mind
I look at his face, which mirrors my own
the intensity of our understanding gazes is why I place my hand on his
and neither of us run away
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 6:45 PM UTC
if i were a drug addict as supposed,
at times when marijuana is legal somewhere
and england testaments it a criminal activity
like murdering someone, or stealing something,
then i'd be up all night,
unscrewing my kneecaps and replacing
them with roller-blades, to move to scuttle
faster past the crowds for another addiction's answer,
what drug addict would be asking for sleeping pills?!
wait... not one! but as i guess marijuana
is as punishable as taking a gun to school...
legalisation came too late for me...
the authorities goody-two-shoe-schooling-nerds
acquiring psychiatric authority got to me...
oops a mickey mouse and everything turned
the daisy into black & white bloom of revisited
televised snooker: black? black. brown? darkest grey.
pink? middle grey. red? middle-middle grey.
yellow? light grey. green? middle-light grey. etc.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
#
Unscrewing the sharpener
Removing the blade
The cool clean metal
Makes me feel less afraid
Inspecting the metallic silver
That could end all my pain
I take a deep breath
Before finding a vein
A hidden cut lies
Among all my burns
Nobody will notices
No heads will turn
The blood welling up
Dripping down my arm
I can feel my thoughts loosen
Ive let down my guard
The door sealed closed
Music blaring in the back
I've stooped so low
It seems I've finally cracked
I've cried and I've screamed
My voice stuck on mute
My depression has returned
I'm still stuck in a loop
There's nothing to be sad over
There's no reason to cry
Just keep your head up
Just look to the sky
In time it will pass
I swear you'll be okay
A voice in my mind
Continues to say
But what if I can't?
Can't handle the pain
Not this time, Not again
Its all in vain
Its finally all happened
I let the last petal drop
But still a tiny little voice
Still screams for me to stop
But it seems I can't stop
This addiction to blood
I feel myself fall
It all ends with a Thud
#
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 4:13 AM UTC
Grab my hand, barge in my fantasy land
Freak me in, freaked out me
It's like a convergence of parallel realities
Combined to be the one
Sunny side up, Moony side comes
Pacing with different lengths
Crossing roads, holding hands.
It's a plus score, to match wavelengths
Scheming and unscheming
Unscrewing and ******** up the plans
Now it is out of controlled ideology
what becomes of we.
Jan 4, 2024
Jan 4, 2024 at 1:21 PM UTC
This is what midway is,
half out and hanging in to
dream on.
And that way to Wednesday,
but it's hopeless to tell you
unless the experience is
first hand,
second hand will not do,
I am watching.
It's early and
there's barely a sparkle in
my eyes
but I can see the future crawling
out of me,
hanging on with all my might
against things that drop off
in the night.
getting old.
Anyway midway's no way to start the day,
you need to motivate, to energise,
to put that sparkle in your eyes.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
Faster and faster,
chasing one thought after another.
The unbridled force doesn’t stop
carrying dissonant sounds,
playing melodies on one dissonant string.
The reality?
Shaping through thoughts, through words
and actions.
If you listen, you are a friend.
If you reject it, you are just an enemy.
Emotions vibrating in the air
The butterfly effect works so well.
Nobody sees subtle cracks in the structure.
A pluck of the string.
The fragile beings disappear.
Those who feel compassion,
bearing the burden
of those who find pleasure
in the fears of others.
This is not a polyphony,
this is a cacophony of curses
of those who are unscrewing
the lightbulb in the middle of the day.
Please,
don’t fall asleep
though your eyes are heavy.
You still have your own songs
to sing purely and loudly
in the middle of the night.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 10:29 PM UTC
drunks and women, napkins and pencils
remote bartenders unscrewing rivers of cheap grape
blue moonlight cafés, bars and broken windows
a pretty waitress and coffee, ashes and fear
aging liquor, layers of dust, and a little ***** beer
lonely shifting curtains and my own used bed
crackling radio and comfortless poetic ***
these naked fingernails sneaking into dry pockets
cigarettes, sadness, and a cold wet towel
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 3:58 PM UTC
From somwhere outside my bubble,
the mindless quacking of a mallard
has infiltrated my thoughts and ideas,
confusing and annoying.
The sun, blinding at it's zenith,
now fades into a vermilion pool,
mercurial silver water transformed,
photovoltaic cells failing in loss of light.
I too begin to fade, diminishing energy,
consumption of power during the day,
draining batteries, my thought light dimming,
the sun, passes the horizon, and darkness envelopes.
Unscrewing my light bulb and setting aside,
preparing for a rest. and shedding thoughts,
much like the fall trees losing leaves one at a time,
I close my eyes and dream, of a duck and a lake
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC