"writher" poems
I stopped writing
because I was happy.
The part of me that wanted to rip my heart from my chest
like the jaws of life just to watch it writher on the black top was gone.
Gone with it my desire to slash the caverns of my mind for some inspiration, bloodletting pain into something that could resonate with myself and maybe someone at Denny's at 4:15 a.m.
Yet like an addict I always seem to slither back to an old friend.
Oct 3, 2022
Oct 3, 2022 at 9:07 PM UTC
Crimson red like
A rose, a flower that
Weeps, a boat that
Sinks
Drunk on air,
High on dreams,
Dripping, drowning
Like the sea
Scorching touch like
A flame, red; red everywhere
I see, petals writher like
Death at a scene
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
I hear your seduction
I taste the sensation
Shivering with the reverberation of desires
Witnessing the carnal combustion
That resides in your teeth
The torrid tangles surrounding my heart
Curves of flesh that you spill unto me at night
Spinning and sprouting as we weave into each other
Your mouth climbing the tips of my *******
Feeling you beginning to descend
I roam my fingers over your hips
As we discover one another
You cluth and grab me as I drink from you
Arching your back we press together
We join into esctacy like no other
I writher beneath you as we become one
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
I've got a common set of insecurities.
A wide variety of trust issues.
A closet filled with I can't love you's.
I've got a tainted heart,
Painted all over with cracks,
Wrapped around in bandages,
Filled with holes where hope escapes leaving me less whole.
I've got a broken mind.
One which over-analyses each concept of the world to avoid further damage.
I've got hitched breaths and broken voices.
Wirings in my head,
Cocked up screws running my emotions
Forcing me to hide and avoid commotions
I've turned into a literal device.
I've been given limitations.
Turned into a personification.
Talk about a huge oxymoron.
I've been turned into the world's biggest metaphor,
An allegory of what people shouldn't be.
I've been made into some anecdote.
They believed I would succumb to the notion of pain.
That I could be battered and tattered into some emotional mess.
To wallow and swallow the hurt,
To writher and turn hollow.
The thought assumption is that the final process of completely annihilating a person.
They must be tantalized and blown to smitherings with ones past.
It's the perfect analogy of a literal masterpiece that comes with a lesson.
However the forgotten loophole of meeting a person willing to stand by us has been casted off.
With the assumption our feelings have become one as machinery.
They forgot we could be Wall E and Eva,
We could defy the code.
We could stand tall, fight the pain and feel better.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
To become something more, I tell you less
And as you grow into someone more, less you know
And so I write, to make sense, but my writings writher with time.....
Each slash on paper, do not complete me.
Each tense does not fufill me, but these writings stand with time.
I write - now- less you feel you know - but my writings will be a piece that.... will sit quietly forever.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
15 year olds are not supposed to think up the things she plans
The morbid thoughts that writher around in her brain
Pity she has a short attention span
"Her life is just beginning" they'd say
The future in her grasp
Little do they know she gave up a long time in the past
"What do you want to do when you grow up?"
"Have you looked at colleges yet?"
The way she sat in silence was answer enough
Teenagers are expected to figure out their entire lives
So why is it then
That 15 is too young an age to know you want to die?
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Dripping faucets leaking black sludge-
Clogging up the sink.
It fills up and has no place left to go so
The overflow ebbs against the edge,
The pressure builds and tenses-
Suspense lingers quietly above,
While fate hangs contented below.
The first splash of blackness crashes
Ruthlessly to the cold and still hard floor.
A shockwave of darkness ripples throughout the area
And penetrates it's path with calamity.
This is tragic,
And this is hideous,
And its all so beautifully sickening...
I could writher around on this floor like a dying fish,
Choking on the blackness and gagging from the air-
Fill my lungs up with poison, and let this disease
Bubble out my ears and mouth,
To mix with the mess on the floor
And the mess I'm in.
Feel an unliftable weight hold me down,
Can't move and don't care.
I think of how I could've fixed this, and chose otherwise.
I look up to the dull flickering light above me-
Until this substance eats away my eyeballs,
And burns through the ****** black holes
To consume my brain, and rot my skull.
Then I am darkness,
And everything is black.
All I can feel is my consciousness pulsing
In static fragments of
*Drip...
Drip...
Drip...*
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
There's nothing in me,
but emotion and thought
In a field of sunflowers
I am a lily, that's lost.
Screaming, "save me!"
Trust me I know the cost
"Pick me!"
Let me writher and rot
Please do not leave me in gloom
I will not bloom next summer,
And I blame you.
I need to die to be alright
Help me rise again,
Hold me in your hands
You say, "I will be your friend"
Then you leave me in the dark
Bring sunflowers to the eulogy
You told me I was not them, but a lily
I do not have eyes, yet I know I am art
I want to glitter with the stars
I know you are the one who tore me apart
Stuck my fragments inside of a jar
Set me on fire
My inclination is gone
See me,
in the sky, and not in the mirror
See me,
in the pasture, and not in your tears
See me,
on the ground, and not as your fears
Do not dream of me, but remember me for years
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
Pieces of you writher away,
Ache and Anguish is all you can feel,
Interested in how to cure what you felt
No one could heal
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
I'm really mean to my cat sometimes and I don't know why
today as I lay in bed
sweaty with a headache after work
all I wanted was kitty cuddles
I spooned her fluffy-ness and had a flashback to when she was a kitten
and you spooned me
and I spooned her
I awoke in the night terrified thinking I rolled over her
only to find her on one side and you on the other
I had my family
I was so content
with my two loves
you were angry at me for getting a cat
because you were allergic
but again like always you failed to inform me of how you felt and later retaliated against me when I couldn't read your mind
always claiming "I knew"
I'm really mean to my cat sometimes and I know why
when we can't find someone or something to blame we will pick anything to make us feel better
even if subconsciously we have no idea we're doing it
you were allergic to her and it strained our relationship
I blamed a cat I love with all my heart
because I could never understand how you could have flipped into a totally different person
it's not her fault
it's not my fault
it's not the other man's fault
it's not even your fault
losing love hurts especially when it just happens
we may love until we feel our bodies writher from pain from crying
we may love until we are dead
but I will not take the blame anymore
and I wont put it on my cat either
don't blame the rain on the weatherman
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 5:56 PM UTC
Hollowed out ghosts linger on my tongue
And tickle my mind
Scratching at the back of my teeth
But never leave my lips.
Faded places writher in my eyes,
And seep into my thoughts.
Trickling down my hands
But never escape my fingertips.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
It might feel safe
And predictable here
But out there is exciting
And there is no place I would rather be.
I could writher and grow old here
Clasping onto those I fear will run away
Or I could live life for myself
In the hope they will still be there when I return.
What choice should I make?
© Maria Francine
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
Far over the bright waned moon
Beyond the stars of our galaxy
Outside space
Beyond time
Live the monsters that invade our dreams
Grotesque beings of ungodly creation
Who's eyes bulge with insight from the Beyond
And slender, porous bodies writher with anxiety
Whom loathe our feeble minds
Envious of our unknowing
They rip and tear at the fabric of time
With their clamp-like hands
Slowly, and with persistent vigor
Infringing on our sleepless minds
To drive us to the same insanity they endure
The Horrors from beyond Time
Fear-mongering ghouls of sweat-filled nights
One day will occupy us all
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 2:31 AM UTC
There existed a haunted cathedral
The eerie tune of the Grand piano
Resonated with deaths call for harvest
Bells echoed into the endless night
Running to escape into the darkness
The courtyard labyrinth is cruel
For no one can leave, when the bells toll
Creatures writher at the night mares moan
The keepers creep through desolate halls
Lanterns lit with soulless smiles
Eager to feast on the lost and hopeless
Ah, this monolith is hell, the end is here
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
I writher in agony,
Feeling the bruises coming to my body.
I try to scream,
But my throat runs dry.
Sobs rip through me,
At an undying pace.
I feel myself being maimed,
My body has been marked painfully.
I smell the sicking musky scent,
He continuously applies.
My sobs are getting worse,
The pain becoming unbearable.
I am numb,
Feeling nothing,
But still feeling everything.
My body is a canvas,
Of multi-colored graffiti.
Bruises scattered here and there,
Repeatedly.
I cannot move easily,
I am moving painfully.
I am hurt,
I’m pained,
Not only physically,
But mentally as well.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
That biology project you do in 7th grade where you put a kernel of corn inside of a wet paper towel, and a week later it sprouts cute little green roots
When Jacob told me I had gunk in my ear, but didn’t know what it was, and that it was disgusting
middle school
Quick moments of total awe and mortification
I think I’m allergic to this face cream I’m using
EVERYTHING IS SO ITCHY
My hell is someone telling me how to do something, without me even asking
I’m cutting these green beans and barely missing my fingers,
I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not
They (the green beans) smell like a 6th grade field trip,
where we went to that lake and scraped pond **** and then looked at its inhabitants’ tiny glass bodies, writher around on top of that hot *** glass microscope slide. Burning in the focused light. Poor bbs
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 5:51 AM UTC