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Sugar strikes us down
You see everyone will have so many spoonfuls of sugar in
Certain foods and drinks
Like Coke and donuts and tomato and BBQ sauce
And Mountain Dew is definately not dew of the mountains it has caffeine and sugar in it
And the brain says have sugar cause it gives us energy well it is just fake energy
I used to drink a big bottle of Coke doing a poetry concert on YouTube and despite I might have felt happy if was just fake happy
I like the colours of pizza and Coke and hamburgers and loliies and other soft drinks but the colours mean nothing
I developed obesity
Because the sugar in my diet was too much
I ate a big rolly poly cake
And every Easter I like the big chocolate bunny
In 2013 I was running to burn all the sugar but I ate more sugar to build up my weight when or if I stopped running
I didn't really feel good great
At the poetry Slam sure I read my poem and was cheered off the stage but I felt very itchy and tired and yes everyone liked me and they thought I was cool but I had cracked feet and tinnea on my feet and now I have exthma on my legs I was very unhealthy
My brain was telling me I need sugar it gives me energy and Coke adds life to your day
Well that is a bunch of crap
Especially when aborigines eat healthy food can give on to sucrose and fructose but then again I did and I got obesity
I have just made a choice to start working with a personal trainer who told me to watch a show called that sugar film teaching me that sugar can really dominate your life in foods you will never think had it but junk food is bad
I could relate to one boy who wanted to get dentures after having very unhealthy teeth
But the pain of the dentist drill
Forced him to rethink his decision still wanting to have soft drink
Even the party drink in alcohol would be bad for you because they can have sugar as well and you can party with water which might be better and you can also have a berry which makes things sweeter like a lemon and a chilli and apple cider vinegar
But sugar is in that berry
You can bet your ****** oath
You see sugar is the big bad wolf of the diet world
Kagami  Dec 2013
Interrogate
Kagami Dec 2013
Psychopath, questioned and played with, complex mind games with
Paper fortune tellers and crystal ***** utilized by con artists.
Chrome decorated room filled with trippy, grippy, grabby men
With blue cats swimming around their head. Coherent words do not exist to them.
Sucrose breaks you down, sweet creature, and thieves the antimatter in your empty scull.
Your favorite song no longer passes through your hollow ears.
Notes and the beats... A heartbeat. The thrum of a low piano key in a house supposed
To be isolated and abandoned. You are not alone here, child.
The demons summoned her because of the lettered board between a mattress
And box spring. The springs are broken from too much activity,
Don't jump on the soiled mattress. That's how you receive punishment.

But one without two does not match the storybook your mother read to you.
The nauseating tale of role,play and *******. Everyone knows the story, seen the Disney.
You can run, but you can't hide from the memories of horrible visions
Given to you by the gods. Hold on, child. You will grow to be a man one day
Despite the nightmare of being a wolf child who clawed his way out of his mothers womb.

Jolt and sweat, forgotten top bunk , and a concussion;
The dreams are back. The recurring realities of a twin long lost, but somehow inside.
Dream catchers don't make the callback list, can't act for the life of them, but
They are beautiful against the scenery.
A porcelain doll holds the demon that hacked my system and took controll of my history,
And once again, she takes my place, fooling everyone into thinking I am here
When, in reality, I am buried six feet under.

Blood dribbles from the letters chilled into my stone, I curl and let them add more letters into
My back to symbolize the life I led. The collection of poems I wrote about you are the ones they
Cut into the skin on my legs, permanent reminders of what I have felt.
"What have you felt?"
***Everything.***
mrs kite  May 2015
2% sucrose
mrs kite May 2015
when you are young
your taste buds are
naïve and
the sweetest thing of all is
destruction.

as you age your tongue
grows wiser but
no matter how sour
revenge tastes now
it has saturated the roof of your mouth
and it stings your gums like
vinegar.
Robert C Ellis Aug 2018
Hades escaping the first leaves of virginity
The realm of Io scattering molten silica
In degrees
Water drops from God’s shoulder burst and buried
Her eyes at my scar;  she stops the bleeding
Sucrose sun whetting the crest of a bee
The dutiful molecules of my shirt sleeves
Zaccheus in a sycamore tree
Her words on a southerly trajectory
Crawfish in my grandmother’s stream
The Battle of Moon Sound beaching infantry
A northern gannet nesting her babies
The decibels of smoldering wood beams
Flesh constructing hairs in the breeze
Molecules muddy as I try to breathe
Ghosts approaching the Andromeda galaxy
Stars floating to the top of the stream
I      N      F      I      N      I      T      Y
Victoria Maretti Jun 2013
When we decided on ice cream
I suggested caramel
sticky sweet
dripping down the sides
I wanted to lick it up and
feel the sucrose explode on my tastebuds
a minefield of pleasure.

When we decided on ice cream
you promised whipped topping
and hot fudge
rich luscious chocolate
oozing toward the edges
swirls of dark intensity
intermixed with bouts of airy lightness
a most delightful contradiction.

With all the imagery that’s found in words
and pictures bound to play out in my head
It’s fair to say this sundae tempted me at waking hours
(and maybe even crept into my dreams)

… it’s quite a shame that in the end you settled for vanilla.
Jemimah  Jun 2013
Singing Honey
Jemimah Jun 2013
Singing honey    sucrose stream
Tidy shelving snug underneath
Nestled neatly inter-wing
Feather down cream

Mothers stroking cradle   rocks
A thousand balls of foam spill
Softly avalanche and bury
Pure angels in snow    hands

Petal sky smeared casual
Walks warmly sweetly
Silken fur raises brow
    At       the coming

Lily padded velvet pawed
Strong slender limbs graceful dancing
The Supple strength
Holds a breath for dawn

Long stalks arch backs
Purring release modesty
Pure unction weeps    complete
Smooth shell face washed in milk

A banner sail widened arms
Outstretched for breeze’s kiss
A wishing penny glides
Through water falling   leaf

Mallow clouds woolen sheep
Dandelion umbrellas    borne away
Slowly sinking Sun dyes autumn
Watercolour cascades melt

Thinly  delicately   imagined
Fragile world Mary’s peace
Doll dependent doting
Soul canopied sanctuary

Silence **speaks
-17.02.2013-
this is an old poem, i just thought I'd share it.
Hope you can see the hidden message.

I will let you fancifully imagine that this means something -
it can if you want it to, or if you want to just shrug and carry on life
in a more literal world, well then, that's fine with me :)

-Jem-
Mel Holmes Dec 2013
I zip up my astronaut suit,
plop the cubed veil onto my head.

In my hat, I am the observer
Living behind the netted television.

Dressed for pain avoidance.  No tears.
(Perhaps I should wear this out on dates)

A tall metal teapot with its accordion attachment rests,
on guard, in my yellow stained gloves.

Together, we enter the boxed colony
The teapot’s steam spurts clusters of buzzers into the air—

I grab coarse honeycombs, drain the
visions of nectar.

When the day is over, I gather the jars,
amber sucrose, the ***-colored concoctions, to head inside.

In the kitchen, the timer aches to sing as the clouds
From the pumpkin loaves clog the room.

I hold my honey and I store my bread.
KNOW your fate
Don’t just ******* talk about it or think about it
Let the sucrose of the idea of that fate percolate your mind, know it and all of its idiosyncrasies, and then accept it and follow it
Hound it down and hunt it until you shoot it in the back of its **** head with a Tommy gun
Then grab that ******* by its hind lags, drag it down that dusty road and throw its *** into the arena
Hurtle it over all those wooden barricades and watch it convulse as his back strikes the dirt ground
Then stand over him with your spear
(you don’t know where the hell this spear came from, it spontaneously materialized in your hand, but its ******* fitting so you go with it)
and bellow “Holy, Holy everything!!! Victory is in my back pocket and all the dues in my wallet.”
The crowd in the ancient stadium cheers
You swing your red cape behind your shoulders
(this red cape is also a recent “randomly materialized” sartorial addition)
and grab a magnolia and bite down on it its succulent stem
Oh my, do you taste that?
How does it first settle on your tongue?
Does it fizzle like pop rocks?
Does it glide like milk?
Toe scrunching sweetness
How does it taste when it inundates your throat?
When it spreads in your chest and settles at the bottom of YOU?
Your fate
The stem
The spit
Your head
Matthew M Lydon Jan 2015
There is no misery
Quite like black coffee
Raised on the sugared ****
Of North America
A lack of sucrose
Indicates a failure of your lifestyle

Never mind the diabetes
And wasting diseases
That come later

We are new, now, blank
A flat white lying prone
Waiting on the fat black footprint
Or haphazard dog defecation
To sully our facade
We'll pretend we earned it

Just as long as you pass that sugar.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
you seen, once they found it, they "dittoed" it out, in english the " sign is not used accordingly to it's original and intended purpose,
e.g.     i said this would never work
           "   "       "        "      always   "                            
the structure of narration is different, the Irish are like the Polish, they write dialogues like this: and encounter with Jim and Paul
- so i says that pint of bitter is grapefruit grease.
- Jim, can't be right! it's sucrose!
- ah ******* Paul, it's grapefruit grease!
in the English speaking world the balance between ' and " signs is strange, i can't explain it at the moment, it's almost like the sign ' represent first person narration, while the sign " represents an internalised narration, even though English language books treat " not as an imaginary conversation, but an actual one, a simultaneous thinking and speaking realisation that's quiet impossible... a bit like breathing and swallowing at the same time - the pharynx suggestion.

i found it in philosophy books,
like Adam, **** naked in the garden of Eden
unaware of his genitalia pronounced
in the open like a dog's ******* bouncing
around while moving (****'s sensitive,
got to fasten it with some bay leaves,
Eve! strap those **** up, we're gonna be running
from sabertooths!)...
the practice of introversion, introspection,
inward Buddhist whatever...
people actually fear it... you know why
they fear it? they're scared of finding
the ego... honest to god, they're protected
by the banality of thinking, well...
"thinking" protects them, daily routines
and the thoughts ascribed to the routines,
it protects them from looking in and
finding the "holy grail"... you know why
they're scared of introversion, of this looking
in, apart from reminiscence, you know why?
they're scared to find their ego (their sigma
identity unit) to be a non-affirmative,
a thing that's not affirming but is de-affirming,
the daily tasks somehow do not affirm it
when the practice of introspection is imposed
since the routine of the daily does not require
any affirmation of the ego - on principle a *per se
unit
that desires less and less disturbances and more coherence;
the once affirmative unit of encoded sound
is no longer (to their surprise) akin to
a sparrow's chirping, or a wood-pigeon's cooing...
it's submissive, a ******* is there in
leather and a gimp mask, hovering over them
with her legs spread open, a vaginal boa,
there ain't no halo... once they find their ego
they realise it's no longer a simple aye
but an even simpler nay... forget all the social
constructs... you don't want to end up
on a television game show, strutting in your
diapers telling everyone your false curriculum vitae
about helping old grannies (an example of
tautology, purposively at close approximate)
across the street or having an interest in sports
when in fact the foggiest... people fear this introverted
introspection, when they find their ego to be
non-affirmative, but submissive, "Islam" riddled
according to their daily routines... but that's
fine by me, it's when they write snippets called
"poetry" that it becomes all too apparent
that the desperation is there, and it's brimming
at a boiling point that consumes them,
and by consuming them, they realise that it's
actually more of a blockage, than an active volcano;
me? my familiar is rage - i have lost my prowess
at the cognitive narrative - all i have is a void
and a piece of paper where narration belongs,
cognitive narration used to be a blessing, indeed
a halo, but it's gone, lost to an archaeology of
some kind (perhaps medical) and never to return,
just sometimes the Hydra pops up again, like this.
Lendon Partain Mar 2013
I trache myself to scream out blood,
To make sure you felt what i said and understood,
Cut open my throat so you can see my voice,
Through cords that shake your core,
Wanting vibration avoidance.

Desiccated hands try to grab your hair and break it,
Like brittle crystals of sucrose.
Each molecule overcame with freezing
From the spatial distance in each look

No matter how hard i try and comfort your heart
Malady wins.
It corrodes your engine and your metabolism begins to fade.

You're frozen in dying
For the rest of time
And I can do nothing to change it.
Its the roots in your heart that i just cant **** out
Heart worms in a dying dog.
Heaving each breath
This is the end of fondness
This is suicide of emotion
Killing echoes of every beautiful girl you gave a **** about.


My voice cant get through the air to you

My blood cant paint on your face

My hands fall apart before they caress and love just withers away like a dead, once verdant chrysanthemum.

— The End —