"wretch" poems
*My depraved soul's unearthed
By the Holy Ghost's breath
And given new birth
Out of spiritual death
This wretch is turned 'round
Fit with eyes to believe
A lost sheep is found
And her Shepherd received
My blots are each edited
Out in Christ's fount
His righteousness credited
To my bankrupt account
A prisoner's been pardoned
No debt left to pay
A heart which was hardened
Becomes pliable clay
My life's set apart
Now from worldly regression
Picked out from the start
Made for Christ's own possession
I'm purchased with blood
Shed on Golgotha's tree
A slave bought by God
And fully set free
My sins were all laid
On the head of a Scapegoat
Who carried their weight
To a desert remote
Once an object of wrath
And deserving hell's fire
But Jesus took my bath—
Conflagration of God's ire
So an enemy no more
I'm brought into God's fold
Carried through His door
And out of night's cold
He calls me His child
His heir and His bride
Though once an orphan wild
Now seated at Christ's side
And soon He'll return
When salvation's complete
When no longer I'll yearn
For His own face I'll meet!*
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
*My depraved soul's unearthed
By the Holy Ghost's breath
And given new birth
Out of spiritual death
This wretch is turned 'round
Fit with eyes to believe
A lost sheep is found
And her Shepherd received
My blots are each edited
Out in Christ's fount
His righteousness credited
To my bankrupt account
A prisoner's been pardoned
No debt left to pay
A heart which was hardened
Becomes pliable clay
My life's set apart
Now from worldly regression
Picked out from the start
Made for Christ's own possession
I'm purchased with blood
Shed on Golgotha's tree
A slave bought by God
And fully set free
My sins were all laid
On the head of a Scapegoat
Who carried their weight
To a desert remote
Once an object of wrath
And deserving hell's fire
But Jesus took my bath—
Conflagration of God's ire
So an enemy no more
I'm brought into God's fold
Carried through His door
And out of night's cold
He calls me His child
His heir and His bride
Though once an orphan wild
Now seated at Christ's side
And soon He'll return
When salvation's complete
When no longer I'll yearn
For His own face I'll meet!*
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
*My depraved soul's unearthed
By the Holy Ghost's breath
And given new birth
Out of spiritual death
This wretch is turned 'round
Fit with eyes to believe
A lost sheep is found
And her Shepherd received
My blots are each edited
Out in Christ's fount
His righteousness credited
To my bankrupt account
A prisoner's been pardoned
No debt left to pay
A heart which was hardened
Becomes pliable clay
My life's set apart
Now from worldly regression
Picked out from the start
Made for Christ's own possession
I'm purchased with blood
Shed on Golgotha's tree
A slave bought by God
And fully set free
My sins were all laid
On the head of a Scapegoat
Who carried their weight
To a desert remote
Once an object of wrath
And deserving hell's fire
But Jesus took my bath—
Conflagration of God's ire
So an enemy no more
I'm brought into God's fold
Carried through His door
And out of night's cold
He calls me His child
His heir and His bride
Though once an orphan wild
Now seated at Christ's side
And soon He'll return
When salvation's complete
When no longer I'll yearn
For His own face I'll meet!*
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
Rest in this, my bruised and weary soul:
I was a wretch, chosen to be a beauty;
a slave, chosen to be a bride;
an orphan, chosen to be an heir;
an enemy, chosen to be a friend.
I deserved nothing but wrath and death
yet received everything of life and grace.
I am loved beyond any dreaming of it
and blessed above all worldly wealth.
I have the incomparable birthright of those
whose Father is God and whose Lord is Jesus Christ—
righteousness from Him and peace with Him.
I am a cherished gift from the Father to the Son.
I was paid for by the Son’s own blood
and am "engraved on the palms of His hands."
I am the living temple of God’s Holy Spirit
Who empowers me to do His pleasure and bring Him glory.
I am the LORD's, chosen and set apart for His delight.
***What more could I ask?
But that's only the beginning...***
I will live as blessed as I believe myself to already be,
for "I have been blessed in the heavenly realms
with every spiritual blessing in Christ,"
"given everything I need for life and godliness"
through knowing Him and His precious promises,
"an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—
kept [securely and eternally] in heaven" for me.
I've been "raised up and seated with Christ";
my "life is hidden with Him" in the Father,
and "He will fill me with joy in His presence,
with eternal pleasures at His right hand."
Oh, that "the eyes of my heart would be enlightened
with the spirit of wisdom and revelation"
to see what’s already been prepared and given to me
and to know much more fully the One Who has
so meticulously prepared and lavishly given it.
As I walk intimately with Him and rest confidently in Him
(based only on His merits, never my own),
I am given free access to my account
in His heavenly storehouse and enabled to appropriate
its glorious riches to every circumstance of my life,
even the most searingly painful and confoundingly difficult ones.
I have a spiritual Fort Knox available to me
through knowing Christ Jesus my Lord,
but He Himself is my greatest treasure.
Without Him, nothing else matters.
Nothing else has meaning if I am not found in Him,
clinging to Him and carried by Him.
When I finally become desperate for Him alone,
I begin to understand the profound reality
of all He desires for me and offers to me
in my spiritual inheritance in Him.
There are infinite presents to be unwrapped
in His presence which cannot be told
in human words or comprehended by mortal minds,
but they wait to be taken hold of by
any and all who would take hold of Him.
***For He gives and gives and gives and gives,
and even when He takes, He gives.***#
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
Amazing Grace: your gift for all. So amazing your grace that you would die for us sinners on a cross in shame and agony though sinless yourself.
How Sweet the Sound: to hear "your sins are absolved"
That Saved a Wretch Like Me: Compared to your perfection and glory we are truly wretched. All blackened by sin, but because of your death on a cross not by water or blood, but by water and blood we are saved and washed clean and white. The only chance we have of getting into heaven is by your gift of Amazing Grace.
I Once Was Lost: like a sheep who strays from the flock and wanders off
But Now Am Found: I am safe and sound in your arms once again. You rescue me from danger and bring me back safe and sound.
Was Blind: because of sin and my faults, wrapped up in a blanket of hurting and lies.
But Now I See: the magnitude of this gift you give and because of your death, the pure spotless lamb, and the cleansing blood you shed for me and for many that sins might be forgiven.
'Twas Grace That Taught My Heart To Fear: fear you in a deep respect for your power, fear of not having you always there and fear of satan and the cost of sin.
And Grace My Fears Relieved: I used to fear what would happen if I sinned and I still fear as I should always, but I take comfort in the knowledge that when I sincerely repent, do my best to sin no more, and to avoid the things that lead me to sin I will be forgiven.
How Precious Did That Grace Appear: It is by Grace and Grace alone that we are saved and indeed how precious, how special Grace was as it appeared to me
The Hour I First Believed: The hour I came to believe in you Jesus my Savior who shed your blood, died and rose again that I might live!
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Fifty Thousand dee-grees hot
Burn your *** right on the spot
-
Great big flash of light and heat
Fry your *** from head to feet
-
Mushroom clouds rise to the sky
No time to kiss your *** good by
-
‘Tomic bombs are coming soon
Blow your *** right to the moon
-
If by chance the blast you miss
Fall-out's gunna end your bliss
-
In the dark your *** glow
Retirement you can forgo
-
Two weeks it takes for you to croak
You'll puke and **** and wretch and choak
-
Are you ready ready for your death?
Go and snort more crystal ****
-
So Hail! Hail! WW3
Very shortly it will be
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind
Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind;
Whose prosy thoughts the joys of life exclude,
And wreck the solace of the poet's mood!
Young Zeno, practis'd in the Stoic's art,
Rejects the language of the glowing heart;
Dissolves sweet Nature to a mess of laws;
Condemns th' effect whilst looking for the cause;
Freezes poor Ovid in an iced review,
And sneers because his fables are untrue!
In search of hope the hopeful zealot goes,
But all the sadder tums, the more he knows!
Stay! Vandal sophist, whose deep lore would blast
The grateful legends of the storied past;
Whose tongue in censure flays th' embellish'd page,
And scorns the comforts of a dreary age:
Wouldst strip the foliage from the vital bough
Till all men grow as wisely dull as thou?
Happy the man whose fresh, untainted eye
Discerns a Pantheon in the spangled sky;
Finds sylphs and dryads in the waving trees,
And spies soft Notus in the southern breeze
For whom the stream a cheering carol sings,
While reedy music by the fountain rings;
To whom the waves a Nereid tale confide
Till friendly presence fills the rising tide.
Happy is he, who void of learning's woes,
Th' ethereal life of bodied Nature knows;
I scorn the sage that tells me it but seems,
And flout his gravity in sunlight dreams!
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Once upon a day or night -- Wait, it was day, there was a light
a light, which shone upon a moonlit drive so dark and drear.
At keeping track, I'm sadly slacking. Forgive my memory, it is lacking
memoirs of this day of days I could not -- would not -- hear.
But now alas, alan, alack, something gruesome did attack, my dear.
Something's ugly head did rear.
Indistinctly, I remember, was it June? July? November?
Moments burn together as I recollect the fear.
And though he knows it gets to me, he will never set it free,
the truth of all the memories I used to hold so dear.
The truth you chose to hide from me for days, turned months, turned year.
But no, I will not shed one tear.
He held my hard heart high in flutter. Stomachs full of bread and butter.
Our love could not be jaded, for he traded tea from beer.
And though we were the oddest pair, I thought by now he would not care
how people chose to say their puns of nuns and hateful jeer.
Of wolves and sheep, of awkward sleep, of hunters hunting deer.
I thought we had our life in gear.
Sadly, though, I was mistaken. Blast, that awful wretch has taken
my whole soul and everything I previously thought mere.
He broke it off, and with a cough confessed, a darkest truth repressed
of everything, how twas a lie, and that the end was near.
And with four words, a looking glass of sorts he handed me to peer.
These the blue-eyed snake hath spoke: "Honey, I'm a queer."
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
The fairys laugh in their play-
letting the sugary pollen flutter onto pale lashes,
with their pixie dust drifting into the darkest of ashes.
I'm going to lay back down,
Amongst the fleeting flowers.
For I swore I saw the remedy,
Hidden with in your golden heart.
Alast, I could have it wrong.
Was it not you, who dare to tell me, "be brave".
But is it not your spent heart,
at her feet as the blackest of ashes.
Glittering fairy dust, could not hide the ruins.
For evils wicked had already been undone.
A curse; a curse, upon your wretch soul.
Sweep the cinders in a coffer-
Lock them under key,
Cover your tracks.
Hide the way.
I forgive thee:
I do, I really do.
But please, my love.
Leave.
For if not, she will find ye--
And it will hurt only me.
Hurry forth now, The witch sends her huntsman.
The howls, I hear them dancing on the winds.
Run.
Do not look back.
But please, my dearest of dears, forget me.
As I have forgiven you--
Now go: A thousands I loves you.
Leave me be.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
A SOCIETY WRITTEN IN FLAMES; SHROUDED IN DARKNESS
*The tears flows in an endless way
Bemoaning the days of yore
Watching with eyes that sparks red,
Sunken and beaten from the tragedies of yore
Helpless and wishing for a relentless call
As tragedy hits her most sensitive part,
Bemoaning the tides,
All her days of glory,
Now a shadowy story*
*She had been ***** by her very own,
The children she yearned and bled for,
The men she fed and trained,
Where her rain fell full and vast, to soothe their hearts
Where she gave it all, and smiled, hoping that someday, they will realize her sacrifices and sleepless nights,
Her nights of terror and horrors
Where she stood in the midst of the stormy eerie night, shrouded in darkness*
*It was her ******* they ****** and clunged to,
It was her arms that shielded them from the shadows of the dark,
But when they grew and flew,
She waited still
Praying and wishing they would remember the days of yore*
*Then the dark hour rolled away,
And when morning came, it was harrowing.
It was harrowing how she waited abandoned and dejected,
As her sons and daughters peaked at the sky,
Trampling her down,
Relegating and belittling her
Painful it were, as she cried from the agonies of the days of yore,
Where she laid all her virtues down,
Giving it all to see her children smile,*
*It is this dejection that has brought her to tears,
It is this wickedness of a child to a mother, that has made her weep endlessly
It is this tragedy that have swallowed her glory,
As her children keeps flying above huddles, in peace and harmony,
Forgetting her,
It is this callousness, that pushed them to sapping her virtues and enriching themselves with it thereon*
*What is worse than a child abandoning his mother?
It is this penchant, that drives them
It is the love of greed,
It is the seed of corruption,
It is not an inherited trait,
It is a despicable decision
Like a monstrous shadow,
Twirling the back of the night.
It is the fire that burns within their heart,
The fire to **** steal and destroy
To take what she can never give again
To live,
To live big at the expenses of others sorrow and agony
It is this evil that has perused Nigeria and has rendered her a roaming wretch
And now tragedy looms,
It booms and blooms,*
A society written in flames
Who will save MOTHER NIGERIA?
Ovi Odiete© 2016, Oct. 31
All rights reserved
Note
Children here signifies the evil politicians and men that has sapped our country dry with their evil penchant
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
petals.
petals everywhere.
flower petals.
they flood my stomach, overfill into my throat, and spill out of my mouth.
i wretch.
i heave.
i grip the skin on my legs for purchase.
the petals just don't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
in the morning, when i first wake up, petals.
in the evening, when i'm settling in and feeling lonely, petals.
at night, when i'm alone in the dark with my thoughts, petals.
more wretching and heaving.
the petals just won't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
when i see your face, petals fly out of my mouth.
out of my mouth and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete.
my knees buckle.
you whisper in a soft voice that could lull me into a blissful slumber.
"are you alright?"
i wretch.
i heave.
why won't these petals go away?
petals.
petals everywhere.
my stomach has become a garden.
has become your garden.
your smile blooms inside of me.
your voice blossoms like a morning glory.
i could get the surgery.
i could get it and forget about you.
about the wretching.
about the heaving.
the petals could go away.
slicing.
dicing.
dissecting.
petals.
petals nowhere.
petals no longer litter the ground i walk.
the bed i sleep in.
the clothes that itch my dry skin.
the sight of your face is now a reminder to me.
a reminder that you are a person.
a person who never appreciated gardening in the first place.
no more wretching.
no more heaving.
no more petals.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Busy old fool, unruly sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys and sour ‘prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the King will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and, tomorrow late, tell me
Whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left’st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear ‘All here in one bed lay’.
She is all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world’s contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere.
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Oh, what a horrible night
Definitely not late December back in '63
These are the Frankie valleys of my days
Night is always black
Night always comes back
Night envelopes us in the abyss
And makes us cherish light
Heightening our senses
To help us handle the unknown
When my days are filled with stimulation
The stillness of night sinks me
Into quicksand mixed by
The current of my mind
Overflowing into the sands of time
And reminds me
Of the stillness of my eyes locked on you
Or the stillness of my actions as you walk by
Or the stillness of my heart when you call me a ******
My frustration boiled
Night's black tar
So I bottled it up
Placed it in a syringe
And medicated my love with darkness
I worked my first job at the local Kroger's
People would leave with everything they wanted
And I'd push their empty carts back into the store
The artificial lights of the street lamps
Lacked warmth
Their hypnotic buzz highlighted
The stillness of night
Making me wonder if there was any way I could be happy
Similar to when activity would die down in rehab
A pitiful wretch left to his faculties
I'd stare out the window
Into the concrete chasm
And wonder if happiness could be found by someone like me
Night continues
Night confines
Day comes
And goes
Night returns
Night reburns
Night relearned
I really hate to see the day come to an end
It'd be alright if I was on the bay with a pen
But I live near sulfur vents
Inside a searing tent
Where the hellacious temperature rises rapidly
Despite the absence of the sun's warmth
The hellfire of night
Reminisces of those
I have thoroughly failed
And my overwhelming remorse
As I stare out my window
Into the bramble ravine
I wonder about the possibility of contentment
The stillness of night answers me
But at least now I can open the door
And charge into the night headstrong
To search frantically
For someone who
Erases my history
And writes my future
And makes me wonder if I could ever be happier
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
Almost everything in the fairytales turned out to be true:
Horrible witches, nasty curses, dark demons, and guarded fortresses.
But princesses?
I thought they were figments of our imaginations.
And yet little girls read storybooks religiously, dreaming of winning over the Prince Charming.
Well ladies, you can keep your pristine and spotless princes.
I know where love and honour truly lies.
It is in the dragon's keep,
Where she is locked away and hidden.
The walls of her own heart blocking everyone out,
Burning everyone down who dared face her inner dragon.
But there is determination running through his veins,
Bravery in every bead of sweat,
A fighter's honour gleaming in his eyes.
Breaking down the barriers to find a damsel in distress, he did the strongest thing:
Held the wretch in his arms.
A soldier with the ability to find perfection in the weakest of souls.
My knight in ***** turnout gear,
The firefighter who discovered a princess.
My love who proved the reality of fairytales,
And found our happily ever after.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
As I finish the book,
The guy in the corner says,
Are you a feminist for real or are you the extreme feminist just like they say?
Trouble,
Tugging,
Tension,
Haven't you ever heard these words my way ?
They spill out my pockets as I find a safe route to home today.
I,
I'm a person, I live to see my kids everyday,
I drive my car with the colt in the back to make sure I reach home today.
I,
I'm a fire, I'm a story to be told,
Yet I lock upon your entrance because for you I'm a singular sight to behold.
You,
You Animal,
You Unchastised Beast.
Struggle,
Strive,
Strenuous,
Strength,
Is the only way I fight your ***** hands off my naked body piece.
I,
I human,
I wrong,
I be the woman that calls hell upon.
You,
You be man,
You be government,
You be aid,
You filthy human being,
But I'm the one to blame.
You,
You liar,
You sniveling little rat,
I,
I innocent,
I sorry,
I right,
Yet I hide like a wet cat.
Naked,
Nauseous,
Nightmare,
The words I have befriended in the absence of the lord.
I,
I hungry,
I scared,
I lost,
I join my hands in agony and frustration for the only consented hand upon me is that of the god.
His,
His mother,
His sister,
His friend,
Be nothing to you,
You tear her body with your claws, your vein's pulsing with *****
You,
You drunk,
You wrong,
You animalistic,
Yet as you slide down my skinny jeans, in tonight's bet I'm the innocent one to lose.
I walk upon the sidewalk and all I hear you say,
You ****
You *****
You ***** from across the shore,
Why don't you slide that hoody up above your shoulders and show me some breast?
You look at me like I'm a chicken piece,
You drool and spank as I pass by
And look at me like I'm the one who suggest.
You,
You father,
You teacher,
You preacher,
You barman,
You taxi man,
You footballer,
You man.
I,
I wreck,
I cavity,
I ****
I **********
I slam piece,
I brothel but no church,
I woman and I naked.
So as I walk up home wearing those tiny shorts,
You pick me up in those black tinted window cars,
I scream,
I yell,
I beg,
I plead.
You shove it down my throat.
You tear my humanity,
You make me bleed.
You,
You stupid,
You arrogant,
You ignorant,
You fool.
You don't know my power for I'm the Gaya to your tomb.
You miscreant,
You rogue,
You bleeding stinking wretch.
You see that halo around me,
I'm your mother,
Your daughter,
Your sister,
Your wife,
Your god.
And every time you look at me with those ugly eyes,
I want you to see my halo glow.
As I picked up my book from the table,
A feminist, A masculinist,
A equality finder,
A woman,
A girl,
I find a name to pick and say,
And I look at your rustic self and I say
'You Don't Even Deserve To Know'
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur’d ’mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love’s last adieu!
In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love’s last adieu!
Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, “Our meeting we yet may renew:”
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow’s represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love’s last adieu!
Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin’d round their childhood his flow’rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill’d by the winter of Love’s last adieu!
Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy ***** in hue?
Yet why do I ask?—to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish’d, with Love’s last adieu!
Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love’s last adieu!
Now Hate rules a heart which in Love’s easy chains,
Once Passion’s tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love’s last adieu!
How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love’s last adieu!
Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast;
No more, with Love’s former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love’s last adieu!
In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp’d at Love’s gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love’s last adieu!
Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love’s last adieu!
3.7k
Deeming that I were better dead,
"How shall I **** myself?" I said.
Thus mooning by the river Seine
I sought extinction without pain,
When on a bridge I saw a flash
Of lingerie and heard a splash . . .
So as I am a swimmer stout
I plunged and pulled the poor wretch out.
The female that I saved? Ah yes,
To yield the Morgue of one corpse the less,
Apart from all heroic action,
Gave me a moral satisfaction.
was she an old and withered hag,
Too tired of life to long to lag?
Ah no, she was so young and fair
I fell in love with her right there.
And when she took me to her attic
Her gratitude was most emphatic.
A sweet and simple girl she proved,
Distraught because the man she loved
In battle his life-blood had shed . . .
So I, too, told her of my dead,
The girl who in a garret grey
Had coughed and coughed her life away.
Thus as we sought our griefs to smother,
With kisses we consoled each other . . .
And there's the ending of my story;
It wasn't grim, it wasn't gory.
For comforted were hearts forlorn,
And from black sorrow joy was born:
So may our dead dears be forgiving,
And bless the rapture of the living.
3.4k
I am never enough
In your scowling eyes,
Your voice is coarse and rough,
No care for how the blood dries.
No care for my welfare,
Just how it affects you.
Remember when you said 'she left you because of the drugs'?
Well **** you too.
And **** when you told me
'I never said that'
Where is your sympathy
You gas lighting rat.
Go ahead and press my buttons
To see me light up,
And when I do,
You play victim.
The meds I take
Are to deal with you.
Your care is fake,
You pretend you don't have a clue.
When I try and tell you
How I feel,
The words don't get through,
Responsibility not so quick on your heel.
You make dinner
For everyone but me,
My patience is growing thinner,
Your hate is like a tree
Taking root under my family,
And now I am the wretch,
The cans in my room, so pretty,
You self absorbed *****
Not big on self regulation,
Or object permanence,
Day on day commotion
Starts again, what a performance.
The rage I have for you,
You taught me well,
I am black all the way through,
And water does not quell.
Alcoholic,
Just like you taught,
This life is chaotic
K cider 7.5% store bought.
Why does Dad have to die of cancer
And you continue to breath?
You death dodging dancer,
Every sip is a seethe.
You shouldn't be allowed around children,
You dangerous psychopath,
A hateful haven,
Blood soaked epitaph.
So here is wishing
You a swift death,
Or maybe go missing,
I don't want to hear another breath.
You won't get a funeral.
You are being cremated.
And I won't be there
To bring you back from the crematorium.
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:20 PM UTC
When fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast, where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,
Can rouse the tortur’d breast no more;
The wild desire, the guilty flame,
Absorbs each wish it felt before.
But if affection gently thrills
The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills
In love can soothe the aching breast:
If thus thou comest in disguise,
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling, would despise
The sweetest boon the Gods have given?
But, never from thy golden bow,
May I beneath the shaft expire!
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,
Awakes an all-consuming fire:
Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears!
With others wage internal war;
Repentance! source of future tears,
From me be ever distant far!
May no distracting thoughts destroy
The holy calm of sacred love!
May all the hours be winged with joy,
Which hover faithful hearts above!
Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine
May I with some fond lover sigh!
Whose heart may mingle pure with mine,
With me to live, with me to die!
My native soil! belov’d before,
Now dearer, as my peaceful home,
Ne’er may I quit thy rocky shore,
A hapless banish’d wretch to roam!
This very day, this very hour,
May I resign this fleeting breath!
Nor quit my silent humble bower;
A doom, to me, far worse than death.
Have I not heard the exile’s sigh,
And seen the exile’s silent tear,
Through distant climes condemn’d to fly,
A pensive, weary wanderer here?
Ah! hapless dame! no sire bewails,
No friend thy wretched fate deplores,
No kindred voice with rapture hails
Thy steps within a stranger’s doors.
Perish the fiend! whose iron heart
To fair affection’s truth unknown,
Bids her he fondly lov’d depart,
Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
Who ne’er unlocks with silver key,
The milder treasures of his soul;
May such a friend be far from me,
And Ocean’s storms between us roll!
3.5k
the world soul
an insane asylum
sediment the guts can't hold
makes me wretch
as the years bend this ridge poll
to the breaking point
a tuba plays booming
it is raven girl and singing skulls
swaying hips
all breath and heat
attended by carnivory
little Fuzzy Mijmark
necrophilia's friend
while men love sheep and bone
in shady coves
and droves of groves
hungry spiders' patient for obese flies
wait in shrouded silk
for the healing power of death
and their soul's new sunrise
in golden mourning's paradise
loving those they eat
marrow deep
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow
No yesterday nor morrow know;
’Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past Misfortune’s brow
Soft Reflection’s hand can trace,
And o’er the cheek of Sorrow throw
A melancholy grace;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.
Still, where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads
Approaching Comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sabler tints of woe,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.
3.2k
Day One:
A voice speaks to me.
When you realize that being lost is so close to being found, you see a sea of family members plagued within the lineage of licentious newborns and hospital beds. You become yourself, a lisp.
Day Two:
Long ago in a city left unscorned he was torn, from the cokeheads and colorful regimes, angels sing long songs of separation anxiety and **** withdrawal. I was torn from the deadbeats of supposed society and three day vicodin trips into my mind. So can you let me know when I get there? ‘Cause I left there running…I wonder, did someone ever tell you that two strangers could twist around your neck at beck and that three parked cars and seventeen lonely nights could haunt you for the rest of your faces.
Day Three:
Tell me of your drug induced hallucinations.
Day Four:
Wait. Hear. Can’t you listen to the relapse? Stop, think. No. gone. Left. Love. Return. My curious addiction. Go back into yourself and listen. Can’t you hear your soul call to me? It’s loud.
Day Five:
I remember prizes at the bottoms of cereal boxes, right before the net broke. Will you be first? Snap back to reality.
It’s dark in here. Wretch from me… I am crying, screaming,
haha! I’m melting inside!
Day Six:
By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower, but the seed inside
Caked over in grief, we are not plates that match. But fools of folly caught in a sea of coke and disillusioned discord. Speed stands between directing and orders to death’s soldiers.
Day Seven:
The difference between God and his counterpart is that he makes exceptions!
Except me.
Day Eight:
Accept me!
Please.
Wait.
No.
don’t slow,
speed.
I can only take so much forgiveness,
is a decision, and I cannot make it.
I am without it, leave me breathless.
Day Nine:
The angel of death waits
He comes for me, but I am running, finding, hiding my inner Nemo in the hands of oxycodon, privileged in the amenities of amphetamines.
I am tired of running!
Haggard.
Take away my hands, my restraints.
Let me feel
again.
Please.
Day Ten:
I am awake.
There is an apple in my field of vision.
Kiss it. Love it.
Take it to hedonism and back again.
But it knows too much.
So tell it everything will be ok.
It lives in epilepsy.
So placate it.
Resurrect my apocalypse.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
I scrutinized the miserable wretch harnessed to the table
Polished my knuckle with his murk, malice, and fable
Placing a centipede on his stomach as it shuffled to his eye
Languidly impending horror as he begged me to die
I put pressure on his abdominal with the ball of my hand
Took a breath to my diluted lungs as the boy’s jawline ran
Tantalizing screams of dread, poor boy fastened on steel bed
I protruded my hand deep and to his intestines, it fed
My malignant clasp ripped and mangled as it went
Like the centipede too, itched and mangled as it went
And as his entrails to, like sizeable centipedes they went
In a ****** stream of fluids crawling and sprawling as they went
I bound up with glee as my poor wretch lay be, and I swung him head-toe to a pit
Where billions of legs crawl, but human ones not at all, a realm where arthropods permit
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
It's where I sit and smoke
No joke
I find my head
So I know I'm not dead
When I think
On the brink
Of the sanity which I dread
I think of my idle Poe
Which helps with all of my poems
Some things I know
Others I don't
I think of everything I wrote
The things about a s***ty year
Where I found the reality of my fears
Am I crazy
I don't know
Is it bad
Ask Edgar Poe
Who wrote words that spoke to my soul
And broke through in clarity
"I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity"
In this line my true sincerity
I think about this in my serenity
As the white wretch
Upon his pedestal
My bench
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 3:04 PM UTC