Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

My poems are way too taboo for this site.


Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

This is probable. Too bad. I'd love to read them. Nothing's too taboo for me.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

I want to break something, I break....myself Tear myself so compleatly That I can't be fixed Maybe then things would Be quiet... This unrelentless screaming I can't drown it out No matter how loud I turn up my music I want to talk... But words wont fill my mouth My wrists scream for relife My mind for peace both elude me while friends say: I'm here, I love you, You arent ALONE.....Just more screaming....

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Hi Vengey.
Take care of yourself.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

People tell me its going to get better. What they dont tell me is how hard it will be, how long it will take or that I will be a compleatly different person when I get there. They dont tell me some nights will be filled with me sitting up against my bed crying and taking jagged breaths trying to calm the storm in my head. They dont tell me that some days I will wish I had a razor to make the angry words that fill my veins escape hoping that by using the razor I can let them out, make them stop hurting me. They dont tell me some days I wont have the strength to look at myself in the mirror because my body feels like it belongs to a stranger. They dont tell me of sleepless nights and dark circles under my eyes the next day. They dont tell me that some times when I need to eat that voice will tell me no you are too fat. They dont tell me it will be easy because they would be lying. They do tell me they love me. They tell me they are here. They tell me i am not alone. They tell me I have to be strong. They tell me to fight. Well this is me fighting. This is me hoping that things are starting to get better.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

ever had one of those nights where nothing really makes sense? like it feels like there is so much in my head that there is no room for me. Its so loud I cant hear my thoughts. I have yet to go to bed because I cant. I cant just lay there thinking. This may not even make sense. But there is so much...too much.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Ruminations from the Gutter

Let us dwell upon
that solemn stick creature
with deep holes for eyes.
Whom thunders about merry streets
Distressed for none to greet
Withered thin with a wistful mind
& hopeful heart of buzzing flies.

Is he bound to this pitiful fate?
To lay low & idle
as a drunkenly tossed single from a pair?
As a forlorn flower left beside the vase
wherein the other blooms wild
amid the dying odor of his quiet despair?
As a man alive, lowered in the dirt
cheap casket, clawing at the splintered wood
for only the hope of breath of air?

Is he forgotten by this starry world
to be left straggling & blown
by the hurried winds of an infinite Universe?
To be bound, tied and shackled
pre-determined to exist as a tired bundle for the fire?
As a perfect specimen for the roaring, public pyre?
To be found wishing from the sinistral apex
of the holy gutter
for one pair of merciful angel eyes
to fix upon his thunderous,
crestfallen poet's stare?

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

So Spoke the Unsound Maiden

'O what great ecstatic joy was felt by me!;
once thunderstruck by the sound waves of her voice
traveling gracefully to my trembling ears,
like an uncovered childhood melody.

Yet of such crushing blow were the songs she sung!;
once at last the words were deciphered to be
so cruel to my heart, so throbbing with pain
breathless in the pierced lung, which her two eyes had slain & stung
with such a force of a thousand angry, begotten bees.

Such passing dismay were the stabs of her breath!;
pulsing in gusts of sweet Spring air,
yet dreary cold like winter's haunting eve.
So all is told by a lonely Arawak slave,
shackled by hope and chained by love
outcast with the glowing bosom-heart in eternal night
river of blood pouring over the naked knee.

So void were her words to my shaken infant mind!;
So cast away from her graceful shore
into her merciless sea of flailing misery,
so misshapen & misguided by human ecstasy
so aghast in lack of any sign hinting toward heaven,
or empathy!

And how, out of such gold lightened beauty,
could emit such cruelty for the sake of cruelty?
Words shooting like arrows from beneath the darkness
of her shifting, wild sea like an armed knightly fleet.

Such passing dismay were the stabs of her breath!;
which offered nothing but a soul torn a'fire
mingled in hopeless desire
with my sullen shame of mind
a' flame in the guttered pyre!

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

6 word stories-

He said I was worth it
The he proved it to me

Not the first not the last
His fingers dance across my skin
Ghosts remain in brusies he left

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

I Walk the Road as a Soldier

that these two pin-holes
have been lifted above the crawling autumn landscape,
transcendentally lost in complete alien objectivity,
I can walk the road.

I can walk the road in truest steps,
in firmest pace, in river-drained hands cold,
in infinite space-speck consciousness
in humility plundered and battered soul
in unconscious desire plucking roses from the fire
in super-mind-feel reeling
in cosmic stun, One.

The glory of the soul summons Will;
to be focused in aim like a cruel hunter
keeping in duration of space & light
expanding in spirals into the infinite night!

I walk the road as an undead poet.
I walk the road as an I.
I walk the road as the ancient vagabond (of fate's compromise).
I walk the road as conscience above the law.
I walk the road as a soldier fighting for the glory of Awe.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

The Break

The Break (Poem, 11/7/14)

Immanence is known in the Break,
in the silent chasm
amidst the boiling chaos.

How much can one head take?
A black snowglobe scorched
& ashes eddying in the sphere of bleak!
Furious ant cities consume themselves in the shaken glass!
Carbonated dissolution explodes the pavement of the streets!
Violent storms beneath our quaking Earth and trembling feet!
Everything churns,
and crumbles.

All things shed their form in drifting loss.
All snakes slither home into nowhere.
All egos fade & retire
into the Change.

Immanence in known in the Break,
in the silent chasm of the heart,
beating solemn encased in iron;
a worn & tired armor,
studded shrapnel wasting
in penetrating chemicals
& electric shock of Life.


Yet here in the solemn Break,
the wind on the grass sways true.
Enough to ease the madness of the world
and make me think of you.

The prairie is gray
beneath a tumbling sky.
All things are folding in,
overfilling the ditches with a million buzzin' flies.
And all things once deadly & a' far
are now so very nearby.

A howling beast in the Eastern wilderness
sounds out the war cry.
The sky splits in a roar above the prairie.
Now look to the long, barren road!
For the Break is gone,
but the battle is nigh.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Vampire kisses

Brusies lining shoulders
love bites from a vampire
fingers whisper come
in places no lights can reach
lips a soft I love you
from a biting fury
demons scream and moan
ripping thier way from my throat
breathlessly moaning
you make me want to howl

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

^^ I really like that. Especially love the "love bites from a vampire" line.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

thank yo ulove actually that was the first line that came to me and I formed the rest of the poem around it

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Very nice. Similar constructs occur when I write my poetry. Though it may usually be an image or idea that I build on over an actual line.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Your  fingers whisper I love you
more than your lips ever have

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

While the Trash Was Sleeping

Sleeping trash bodies on a grubby floor
are complete with warped & strange faces that see no more.
Hollow are the minds and densely clogged are the throats of fools
who like primates clobber unsuspecting victims with heavy, wretched tools.
Their ego lies scattered like broken glass. Reality, a mirror that does not reflect back.
These poor saps have little left except the dope-instinct, and a little fire in their bellies.
Dignity has left the station and slammed all the doors! Dignity has nothing to say anymore.
Those who cannot stand the isolation are those who cannot live in truth, unbared, in the light.
Reach out your skeleton hand & greet despair for these unthinking weaklings!
Despair and desolation reep the spirit-mind of the junkie, content with the void.
Garbage flows from their mouths, and whores spill from their bodies!
There is nothing more.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)


I remember when torture wore a smile
in the evening pursuits of the Eternal Membrane.
I remember when my face was like melting plastic,
dripping with ecstasy in the all-consuming
electrified dance of my brain,
enrapt in a moment-by-moment infinity.
I remember when I was unknown to the universe,
and when I was unknown even to me.

I remember the table, the sanctuary, the church, by god!;
for it began to shake in violent spasms beneath my unconscious hands...
Each movement, each variable, each remaining crusted warrior
echoed in familiarity, in super-conscious-spirit drivel,
in what psychologists call extreme mental sickness.
I remember being caged within the nuthouse deluxe,
and served 'till death's appeasement in a thousand mocking, opulent banners!

I remember my closest friends, Panic and Fear,
whom both smiled knowingly at the vicissitudes of life
as the reptilian world is re-born & the ego crawls into the sea,
lost and searching for comfort and nursery.

And I remember, lastly,
waking up to the sound of sunshine rays
blasting through the open window;
a golden warmth pushed by cool breeze,
flowing beneath a pastel blue curtain from memory
settling like morning dew upon my clarified mind,
which is re-born only out of madness,
experienced & spotless
in the new eternity.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

The Dancer

She dances
as lonesome islands sink
into the bliss of her hair
shattered over my eyes
with whispers of lies
into my drifting ears.

She dances with a concrete nose
smashed above her mouth.
She dances with lips that writhe
in the most foreign movements;
a conductor of sensation fit for the apes.
She dances like a peacock
feathers roasting in shameless display.

Eternity weeps with dollars on her thighs.

She dances legs in the moon.
She dances torso in the afterlife.
She dances mind in the oblivion.
She dances with her face in a farm.
She dances with her deadly angel body.

All hands are hidden from furried flight.
Her halo glows tonight
with a red,
red light.