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Bardo May 2022
I think there was something wrong with my bladder
I noticed I was starting to *** a lot
(Must have had an infection somewhere),
It was like every thirty minutes I was going off to the loo
At this rate I thought you'll have the handle of the loo worn off with all the toilet flushing you're doing,
A little while later I'm out in my back garden walking, getting some air
And there's this... there's this great big **** just growing there
And I think to myself "I wonder what'd happen if I peed on that ****
Would it **** it or have any effect on it'
So I started peeing on the ****, and you know strangely it starts to become this kind of obsession with me
A kind of a scientific experiment, this peeing on the ****
(Probably shows how empty my life is LoL)
All through the day I go out to *** on my ****
Even at night I go out with a flashlight just to *** on my ****
And sure enough about a week and a half later
The leaves their all starting to wilt, the whole plant just starts turning to mush
Well that's quite a discovery I say to myself,
*** it's a a potent weedkiller
And then there's this other ****, a different kind of **** and I start peeing on that one too
And y'know the same thing happens
After a week or two of being constantly peed upon
The other **** starts to wilt as well turn to mush
I'm suddenly reminded of the famous old scientist Issac Newton
The guy who was out in his garden one day and got hit on the head with the apple and then invented gravity
(What goes up must come down)
"Well", I thought, "Issac you're not the only one who discovered something in his garden
Us scientists, yea! we got to stick together, we're a rare breed altogether"

Anyway awhile later I'm down the shop and I bump into this neighbour of mine
He asks me 'Are you enjoying the lovely Spring weather ?'
I told him I was, that it was lovely weather
Then he asks 'Are you doing any Spring cleaning, that house of yours ?'
I thought for a second, then said "Spring cleaning...Naw!"
Then I smiled "But I have... I have been doing a spot of gardening though".
A Poem for Spring. More ***.
Katie Miller Jan 2019
12/9/2018

Blow a dandelion
Scattered wishes
Weedkiller breathes death upon their hopes

Wish upon
A shooting star
Destroyed debris grants nothing

Pennies in wells
Change for a wish
Leftover change in an empty case

Rabbits foot
On a chain
Hopping stops a hoping dream

Four leaf clover
Picking flowers
Wishing on the dead weeds kills

Wishbone breaking
A wish come true
One is left with a broken heart

Birthday candles
Blow, make a wish now
Burning reflections in teary eyes

A hopeless sky
Ignorant innocence
Children’s wishes turn to dust

A hopeful fairytale
Told stories of love
A broken heart reveals the truth
I was sitting in the car while my dad was driving and we were just talking. He said that, the previous night, he had seen a shooting star, but didn't both wishing on it because that would be "ridiculously ignorant". I, being a poet, launched into a cliche explanation that a shooting star isn't just a wish, or a dream, it's a hopeful type of ignorance. To this, he responded, "It's just space trash". I decided to write a depressing poem from this, just as I do with most things in my life. I hope that this poem captures the lost ignorance and innocence of a wishing well, a shooting star, a rabbits foot, a clover, and dandelion, and all of the other wishing spells we cast when we are children.
dorian green May 2021
i see myself -
unshaven and distraught, at peace with who i am and despaired by a world i saw coming but couldn't prepare for.
i see myself -
sitting in the old house, civil war ghosts whispering through the cracks in the dry red clay. sherman burned this town once and now i get to watch the sun do it again.
i see myself -
the hedges are overgrown and i never stopped smoking cigarettes. the shadows on the walls are mapped out, a mimicry of life in an empty heirloom.
i see myself -
head in my hands thinking about history. The Last Gilded Age. The Second Gilded Age. what good are comparisons if no one's left to draw them? how does the past make room in a world already strangled by its present?
i choke back -
the same addiction that made geraldine shoot herself. it occurs to me that i am probably the last person alive to remember geraldine ever existed. i think that's what drew me to history - i've always had the past living inside me. there's a whole family tree intertwined with my ribcage, like kudzu over tarred lungs.
i fill my -
flask with weedkiller. i inherit an open wound. i try to find my place in a history that no one will ever read.
so basically i've been thinking what the world's gonna be like when i'm an adult-adult. wouldn't recommend it.
Kelsey Rhoads Feb 2017
In the end one needs more courage to live than to **** himself.
A lot of you cared, just not enough, I guess. I just can't eat and I can't sleep. I'm not doing well in terms of being a functional human, you know? There comes a time when you look into the mirror and you realize that what you see is all that you will ever be. And then you accept it. Or you **** yourself. Or you stop looking in mirrors. I waste at least an hour every day lying in bed. Then I waste time pacing. I waste time thinking. I waste time being quiet and not saying anything because I'm afraid I'll stutter. And sometimes you stop and realize-some people are just not meant to be in this world. It's just too much for them. Once upon a time you had no clue why one self would want to even think about killing themselves, and now you know way to close and personally for comfort. Literally. People always ******* ask. Always ask "Why did she do it?"  Twenty aspirin, a little slit alongside the veins of the arm, maybe even a bad half hour standing on a roof: We've all had those. And somewhat more dangerous things, like putting a gun in your mouth. But you put it there, you taste it, it's cold and greasy, your finger is on the trigger, and you find that a whole world lies between this moment and the moment you've been planning, when you'll pull the trigger. That world defeats you. You put the gun back in the drawer. You'll have to find another way.
What was that moment like for her? The moment she lit the match. Had she already tried roofs and guns and aspirins? Or was it just an inspiration? I had an inspiration once. I woke up one morning and I knew that today I had to swallow fifty aspirin. It was my task: my job for the day. I lined them up on my desk and took them one by one, counting. But it's not the same as what she did. I could have stopped, at ten, or at thirty. And I could have done what I did do, which was go onto the street and faint. Fifty aspirin is a lot of aspirin, but going onto the street and fainting is like putting the gun back in the drawer. Ours was different because she just lit the match. Actually, it was only part of myself I wanted to ****: the part that she wanted to **** herself for, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement, and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy. But in all reality..What's the big ******* deal? Lots of amazing people have committed suicide, and they turned out alright. But it was truly ironic, really - you want to die because you can't be bothered to go on living - but then you're expected to get all energetic and move furniture and stand on chairs and hoist ropes and do complicated knots and attach things to other things and kick stools from under you and mess around with hot baths and razor blades and extension cords and electrical appliances and weedkiller. Suicide was a complicated, demanding business, often involving visits to hardware shops. And if you've managed to drag yourself from the bed and go down the road to the garden center or the drug store, by then the worst is over. At that point you might as well just go to work, and I want to tell you about everything but I can't because I couldn't stand for you to have that look on your face all the time like I did. I just need you to look at me and think that I'm normal; that you're normal. I just really need that from you. You should want that from yourself.
If you read this and like it, give it a like for me? I'm going to be reading this at a ceremony for the big poetry finals for State.
If you understand, i'm sorry. Stay strong friend.
Kirsty Jun 2015
YOU NEVER WANTED TO BE A GARDENER
I can feel the weeds poking
through the mulch in my stomach.
stop plucking them out-
they just grow back louder.
yknow, for a gardener,
you spent a lot of time
in mortuaries.
I just didn't realise I had one
in my chest                                  
I didnt realise you'd notice        
didnt realise you'd try to pull
the weeds out of that too,
and plant daisies in the beds
instead.
Did you know daisies are weeds?
yknow, for a gardener,
you were never very good.
But I still let you into my house
to water my arteries.
every single time we kissed
I left with a mouth full of flowers;
you left with a mouth full of mud.
It's not your fault you couldn't
keep up with the gardening.
you tried everything to get rid
of those *******.
Didn't your mother ever tell you
not to kiss a girl who tastes like
weedkiller?
They tell me you gave up gardening -
But I know you still keep a daisy
pressed in your bible.
6am sleepless night poetry and you're on the tip of my tongue.
neth jones Oct 2019
mechanism
promotional sow of proceeding
boring out generations of teachers
we flutter out our lives
in a rainbow of seizures
withering off of this diet
we have crypted a pretty rot
a pattern of the dis-eased
hide our ill gotten health
with our nonsensical biography
the sooth-stones of our deceased
our distraction by wealth
and our vicing with biology
velocity increased
cowed in with our filth
model no apology  
wilt
and work on our space program
a rant at society nature at its most frustrating
Marshall Gass Nov 2014
hidden in the eyelashes
silk and silicone implants
weeds grew in abundance
weedkiller did not work
nor did steam cleaning. washing
down ever

the lies surfaced
through soft tissue face
and the eyes of glass glittered
in abject rage.

done
i was by the justice system
seeking solace in its open arms
winners walk away with
victories of deceit.

stood alone in the dock
waiting for the sunshine
to emerge unscathed
from this battlefield
of deception.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 days ago
Haylin May 2018
In the end one needs more courage to live than to **** himself.
A lot of you cared, just not enough, I guess. I just can't eat and I can't sleep. I'm not doing well in terms of being a functional human, you know? There comes a time when you look into the mirror and you realize that what you see is all that you will ever be. And then you accept it. Or you **** yourself. Or you stop looking in mirrors. I waste at least an hour every day lying in bed. Then I waste time pacing. I waste time thinking. I waste time being quiet and not saying anything because I'm afraid I'll stutter. And sometimes you stop and realize-some people are just not meant to be in this world. It's just too much for them. Once upon a time you had no clue why one self would want to even think about killing themselves, and now you know way to close and personally for comfort. Literally. People always ******* ask. Always ask "Why did she do it?"  Twenty aspirin, a little slit alongside the veins of the arm, maybe even a bad half hour standing on a roof: We've all had those. And somewhat more dangerous things, like putting a gun in your mouth. But you put it there, you taste it, it's cold and greasy, your finger is on the trigger, and you find that a whole world lies between this moment and the moment you've been planning, when you'll pull the trigger. That world defeats you. You put the gun back in the drawer. You'll have to find another way.
What was that moment like for her? The moment she lit the match. Had she already tried roofs and guns and aspirins? Or was it just an inspiration? I had an inspiration once. I woke up one morning and I knew that today I had to swallow fifty aspirin. It was my task: my job for the day. I lined them up on my desk and took them one by one, counting. But it's not the same as what she did. I could have stopped, at ten, or at thirty. And I could have done what I did do, which was go onto the street and faint. Fifty aspirin is a lot of aspirin, but going onto the street and fainting is like putting the gun back in the drawer. Ours was different because she just lit the match. Actually, it was only part of myself I wanted to ****: the part that she wanted to **** herself for, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement, and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy. But in all reality..What's the big ******* deal? Lots of amazing people have committed suicide, and they turned out alright. But it was truly ironic, really - you want to die because you can't be bothered to go on living - but then you're expected to get all energetic and move furniture and stand on chairs and hoist ropes and do complicated knots and attach things to other things and kick stools from under you and mess around with hot baths and razor blades and extension cords and electrical appliances and weedkiller. Suicide was a complicated, demanding business, often involving visits to hardware shops. And if you've managed to drag yourself from the bed and go down the road to the garden center or the drug store, by then the worst is over. At that point you might as well just go to work, and I want to tell you about everything but I can't because I couldn't stand for you to have that look on your face all the time like I did. I just need you to look at me and think that I'm normal; that you're normal. I just really need that from you. You should want that from yourself.
If you read this and like it, give it a like for me?
If you understand, i'm sorry. Stay strong friend.
Katie Miller Mar 2019
Blow a dandelion
Scattered wishes
Weedkiller breathes death upon their hopes

Wish upon
A shooting star
Destroyed debris grants nothing

Pennies in wells
Change for a wish
Leftover change in an empty case

Rabbits foot
On a chain
Hopping stops a hoping dream

Four leaf clover
Picking flowers
Wishing on the dead weeds kills

Wishbone breaking
A wish come true
One is left with a broken heart

Birthday candles
Blow, make a wish now
Burning reflections in teary eyes

A hopeless sky
Ignorant innocence
Children’s wishes turn to dust

A hopeful fairytale
Told stories of love
A broken heart reveals the truth
Ryan O'Leary Jan 10
UNCLEAR

   Hydrogen and Helium

   Weedkiller and Sugar

Phosphate Agent Orange

  Ambiguous Confusion

   Of Nobel’s Evolution

   Extinction Extension

  Dinosaur to Dynamite

           NUCLEAR

— The End —