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Jessica Nichole Apr 2011
I have hairy legs.
The dishwasher is broken.
I have been reading books.
I have been solving stupid math equations

I have to wash the food crusted dishes.
I’m writing a novella
I’m also researching sodium chloride
My novella is only six pages single-spaced so far.

Comment vous appelez-vous?

Why doesn’t anyone participate
In the
Wash Your Own **** Dishes Program?
I’m studying French.
-b +/- Square root of b2 – 4 (a)(b) over 2(a)

Anyways.
I have been teaching myself
How to play my
Black
Stretchy
Accordion.
[I don’t know why,
But it’s stretchy
Like mozzarella cheese]

I have to help my sister-in-law move
Into my house.
Into the basement.
Heh heh heh.

Daiya non-dairy cheese:
“Melts and stretches!”

Now I have to scrape the
Black tar gunk
Off the plates, because
Mother told me to do so.

Oh, the odium of sodium!

There is
No more time
For me
To shave
My legs.
Steve D'Beard Dec 2012
the pitch dark symmetry
of spiral engraved
glossy jet black
vinyl

the ***** claws
and webbed spiders;
graced with impeccable
scratch

words come back around
from dog day afternoon;
entwined in ritual
beatology

technique absorbed in prowess
dedication assimilated by passion;
human form and synthetic resin becomes
overlayed

polyvinyl chloride or
unsaturated hydrocarbon radicals;
a derivative by any other
name

I'll leave that nugget for the pub quiz
and relax, post-Christmas stress;
the street scramble bustle,
embrace a pint of
black magic
Lisa Giordano Aug 2013
Two lovers died tonight.
Together they sipped glasses of potassium chloride.
To others their love was unjust,
to each other, their deaths were a must.

In a jungle of segregation,
they were forced for permanent separation
one that they both could not adjust.
To each other, their deaths were a must.

They decided to take a firm stand,
held glasses of sorrow in each hand
and as they both had discussed
to each other, their deaths were a must.

Two lovers died tonight,
to each other, their deaths were a must.
Erik Whalen Nov 2018
As usual, the last juice in my phone battery petered out as the bluetooth speaker positioned on the picnic table started beeping and repeating the word "pairing" over and over.

That was the last bit of company that I would be able to fool myself with that night.

The rustle of the mighty firs and the deafening quiescence of the oak trees proved to be a captious audience, with the only essence choking back the seeping darkness a fire pit, searing brilliantly at nightfall.

The flames crackled and burst in the sap-filled wood, giving me an opportunity to drown the eve in the fire's sporadic, propulsive popping.

With no more music to accompany me in the night, I tuned my old guitar, which was resting in the backseat of my car, and I slowly worked out the notes to several melancholy acoustics that I treasured in earnest and frequented as I did eating and breathing.

My world should be quiet, but my brain never sleeps.

As if possessed by a sudden desire to purge old memories, I threw that old album that we so cherished in along with the next few logs.

In a panicked frenzy, I pulled the book as quickly as I set it down, hands searing from the heat, and I stamped out the flames with an old coat I had brought with me.

Throwing another log onto the campfire, I took a dried rag I had soaked in some copper chloride and watched as the flame that came out shined almost a sea-foam green, different from the azure I was expecting.

For once, the aforementioned seeping darkness had crept to the corners of the campsite as the brilliant display lit up the whole area, proving to both be a fantastic show of color as well as the first truly chromatic moment that had happened in ages.

No one had come, of course. It was as expected. It's cold as a glacier and there's hardly any beer, so I wouldn't really blame them.

That's it, maybe we're thinking glass half full.

Slumber met me with its sweet embrace, the only silence I would permit to befall me and the only silence I had been grateful to.

Pale sunshine pierced through a single cloud in the morning late.

A crisp chill and the light drip-pat-pat of the falling rain outlined my mood better than my words were able to.

I'm not sure what I need to feel satisfied, but a glass half empty is not a glass half full.

I checked my phone, which had been on a power bank all night, hoping to have companionship other than a text from my parents or a message from my girlfriend telling me to cheer up again.

Of course, the phone was only at 25%, and I had better get moving if I wanted to be home and enjoy the constant rattling of every day life that drowned these natural sounds out.

If I'm only half-here, then I might as well leave.

I must have been the last one to have been ground to rubble.

I had remained oblivious for many years, before I knew what it was to be without my trademark foolish optimism.

That pale sunshine would have served me a fiery orange, scorching the awoken sky in a torrid, infectious sprightliness.

What was once a glorious, chromatic panorama had become a single, stilted picture frame long discarded, the glass broken from frequented moments of reminiscing.

If I had left months ago, would any of you have remembered me?

As I prepared to leave, I picked up that old photo album, now singed at the edges, and picked up my slippers from the side of the fire pit, which were left to dry and instead showered in the early morning.

I threw the photo album in the trunk and packed the rest of my belongings, heading back home to Camillus where I could pretend that all of this noise was good for me.
Hey guys! Just a little string of free-form lines that I came up with during a choral observation last night, hope you enjoy them!
Asphyxiophilia Aug 2013
The ocean has a salinity of about 3.5%
And contains mostly sodium chloride
Which is the same salt that streaks
Down my cheeks whenever I cry
But I didn't notice a difference
The evening I wandered into high tide
Despite the warnings offered by lifeguards
"The current is rough and the sand is steep"
But I was determined to wash
Every ounce of you off of me
But it seemed that no matter how many waves
Crashed against me and knocked me off my feet
No amount of water would cleanse me.
So the next best thing I could think of
Was to exhale every vapor of you
And fill my lungs with saltwater
And it reminded me of falling in love
And I drowned just as effortlessly.
robin Dec 2013
i saw you last night in my dream.
we held tattoo guns.
we wrote the definition of friendship on each others' back.
when i finished,
your back read 'a refuge from the world.
somewhere you don't have to think about painful things.'
when i looked in the mirror, my back read
'a version of intimacy with less lying.
a way to share bruises.
a shared blood bank.'
sometimes the way you speak
makes me think you're composing letters to someone else in your head.
sometimes i think you only approached me because
you like small birds -
robins and sparrows
and wrens.
i like attack dogs.
i try not to project that onto people.
you said your name was the product of shame.
you said every syllable was a lie.
when time changes every letter of your name to different variations of
"bare legs and
brick pyramids and
ball and socket joints"
you will tell me to pronounce each syllable anew -
someone should have told you
not to build your body from bricks
when you're standing on a fault line.
don't you know california's known for its earthquakes.
don't you know subduction zones aren't just metaphors for you
and your latest lover.
stand up.
get off the floor,
stop crying.
it's not my fault you chose to love somebody.
your knees are raw and the bruises sink deep.
you laid persian rugs over all your linoleum floors
and the rugburn on your lips pays testament to your dedication.
while i am with you
you fall to the floor and whisper.
you replay every word you said to them
and fashion better lines, -here,-
-i'll show you that i love you, my tongue's between your teeth, i trust you not to bite-
you say -listen to me, listen:-
-there's a hell. i know it.-
-let's go find it.-
i keep replying but you just kiss the carpet.
when i started smoking you said you were worried about my health.
funny how you only notice something's wrong when something starts to burn.
funny how you didn't notice my white knuckles when you spoke.
funny how you didn't notice when i stopped replying.
i stripped all the color from my hair last night
i meant to dye it the color of your eyes
to remind myself of your
good points,
remind myself why i once wanted to speak to you,
but you know,
i think achromatism suits me.
hair the color of mist and smog.
i never learned the difference between smoke and fog,
i keep trying to smother clouds.
on cold mornings i close my mouth,
cover my nose,
try to starve whatever it is burning inside of me .
i suppose you'd appreciate that,
in your mind,
fire is a synonym for death.
you ***** all the candles that i light.
when i put an ember in my mouth you say -what's wrong.-
-tell me,-
-it's not healthy-
-to keep all that smoke in your mouth.-
-you can tell me about anything.-
i wonder,
who told you that spreading a forest fire
helped it to die?
i wonder who told you sharing sadness was the only way to be intimate.
well here, let's share misery. let's spread it like an infection, like an std.
1. when i am alone in crowds,
i find myself searching for faces of people i despise
that i haven't seen in years.
somehow i want them there more than the people i love.
2. i am a background character.
my only line is, 'let's get out of here.'
3.  i wonder a lot how happy i could be
if i wasn't here to drag me down.
i wonder a lot how i would have grown up in a cleaner town.
would i still be terrified of safety?
4. the only constellation i recognize is orion.
the only constellation i recognize is a hunter,
a human killed by gods,
a man slaughtered for the jealousy of the brightest god.
i tried to learn others,
but they never stuck.
never seemed quite real.
5. in a catholic classroom they taught me that G. O. D.
loved the smell of burnt flesh.
on interstate 580 my father told me never trust
a smiling god.
6. epinephrine and endorphins. epinephrine and endorphins. epinephrine. epinephrine. epinephri
7. my mother told me i was sugar and stardust and i
bled for five years
to prove her wrong:
copper and hemoglobin
and chloride.
8.  every boy looks like family i've never met.
every girl looks like a better version of myself.
9. i collect memories of girls
waiting at bus stops at night,
alone.
heads between their knees,
hollow but not empty,
trying to stay steady.
bleach sloshing in excavated ribs.  
10. sometime in the last half-year,
i have learned to despise you.
i am an american firearm and you give me another bullet every time you make your presence known.
i am a hammerhead  shark.
you poured wax into my gills
and tried to leave your seal on me.
congratulations! congratulations. you left a mark on me. you made yourself more than a friend,
you made me hate you.
do you feel significant now? do you feel special.
you can see the ugly parts now, when i spit in your face i won't make it pretty.
-you don't have to hide from me.-
-i want to see what you don't show-
merry ******* christmas! time to make good on your claims,
hope you were truthful because here.
i brought you my gangrene. i unwrapped all the bandages just for you.
sorry it's not quite as pretty
as those carpets you laid over your cheap floors.
i'll be standing by your fireplace,
lighting every candle i can find,
illuminating my body from every angle.
hope intimacy is everything you imagined it'd be.
I think of seawater
because of its briny tang,
because when,
by accident,
it trips into my mouth,
coats the inside of my cheeks
in a clear, chloride gloss.

I think of seawater
because of the way
it blooms along the shore,
dazzling white jewels
slinking up our toes,
our feet left with a glimmer,
slippery and clean.

I think of seawater
because your hair was soaked,
chestnut brown trickles
wriggling down your face
and I could smell the beach
in the pool of your neck,
fresh and transparent

at the crook of your lips.
Written: September 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, not quite as good as I wanted it to be, but still satisfying. All feedback welcome as always. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP in the coming months.
Joshua Quinones Nov 2011
We took a bus to Wilmington
And skipped a dream or two
In order to be cognizant—
When the “Are we there yet’s”
Rebounded void of “yet.”

We parked the bus adjacent to
The paint-peeling facade
Of lonely temple Wilmington—
Threatening no demon of the sky
With a keenly polished death spike.

It had no spendthrift window of
Christ Jesus with the sick
And poor, neglected derelicts—
Who glow with jubilee and gold chloride
For His altruistic charities.

Across its door was fastened tight
A rusted iron chain
Which barred the shallow, blinkered souls—
Who loitered at the barrier’s feet
Waiting on God to warrant entry.

But we who were of cogent view
Detached deterring catch
And entered with our chins *****—
A light-bulb-vacant sanctuary
Where taciturn shadows took a seat in every pew.

And down a velvet aisle stood
A lonely, weeping priest
Inhaling in unblemished palms—
That not a single pious doubter
Would dare inspect.

“Welcome to my church,” he said
With breathless, choking sobs,
“I am the congregation here—
The pastor, choir, usher, and Sunday school teacher
Of Wilmington Church of Reason.”

Inquired we what hidden woe
Enlaced with torment cast
Those salt discharged convulsions—
Quaking the sanctity of exultation
In the House of Apollo.

And with concise, unleavened words
He justified his tears
And whispered to our weary troop—,
“Alone, alone am I,
Isolated within this box of omitted truth.

“O, give me soothing slumber deep
And strip these sentient eyes
From ghastly sheaths of consciousness—
Repair this mended paradigm,
Or tell me that I am mistaken.

“Imaginary friends and foes
Make wretched hearts a wreath
Of roses red and mistletoe—
And bird of paradise to keep
Hope alive, alive and awake and well, hope alive…”

So each of us, a brimming cup
Of empathy, remained
To keep old pastor Wilmington—
Old usher, choir, teacher, congregation Wilmington
Alive and awake and well.
Jordan Smith Oct 2013
I can't know what having nerves is like.
I don't want anything anymore.
I was never told by my mother to clean my room.
My room has been ***** ever since just so one day I hope she comes in raising hell just so I'll clean up.
My room remains close friends with the dump because I'm still waiting for that day so I can make it spotless.
I never knew what to do with those mother's day cards I was forced to make in school.
Maybe they were delivered to her by some divine mail man that never showed up.
Maybe I wasn't on their map, maybe I'm not on the map, maybe I shouldn't be on the map, maybe I should burn that map down with cliches of passion, maybe I should make my own map of the hills I've crossed, the ones I never tried to cross, the places I've been, the places I've never been, the place I was yesterday, the place I was today, the place I'll go tomorrow, and where it all ends.
X marks the spot.
I've stood upon the soil she cried on.
Up grew the tongues of people that could tell me "what really happened."
I chose to spray pesticides on those beautiful plants.
Instead I let weeds grow there.
They told me the truth, but too much of one thing is filling.
So in return I fed them salt so nothing would grow there ever again.
Sodium Chloride silenced the truth, I realized later that the soil sat in my ears and I made myself deaf and shot my foot off.
Sodium Chloride was the cyanide to my soil.
I drew a map of that soil.
It turned into a maze that I never did figure out how to get out of.
I still don't know how to feel, I can't even feel the crumpled map you threw out on how to reach me.
mark soltero Apr 2021
telling me to grow up
it feels constructive
when you insert the potassium chloride into me
gay as morbid men’s amusement
spill into my bloodstream
some children cry
but sometime ago
i let out so many tears that i died
chloride can only preserve what i’ve seen
it’s all nothing
there’s no more dreams
where do i go at night
i can’t tell you the last thing that child uttered
his final breath didn’t matter
boys don’t cry after all
they **** their minds and **** what’s left
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Thomas Holmes. If it is a new software.
Girls, young people and stars are more
likely to be found Although the fish need
a lot of weapons The basis for experimental
production for many  banana models. Thieves
thieves. The temple is up in smoke Talk
to the social community. Wait for someone
to prove it The ill child
My mother and my mother were wonderful
This is an idea taken. However, easy for heavenly
views, mother's time Hunger is a ****** of violence
and violence. The battle against cancer
Natural Offer. imported Legal conditions
are the same. They are buried in the dragon.
See the image of a city sent to Google to search.
parameter The first car is a spiritual test.
She missed her food Have a great stock of girls.
Belize's business is similar to the use of copper
knives Belize, Asian and Iranian and close parents.
The death rate from the death of AIDS
You will feel good in the first, global changes.
Roma have become one of the poorest hair of hair.
From Alexandria Business The boy said, "I'm fine.
Some problems, "It's a day for me.
If you can not connect,
The Asian 1490 Asian Stage Insights
South America, Asia, Latin America, 14, L = 4%
July 14, England, England.
In the United States, Julia Bari, 914 L4, EE. UU:
Spanish 14:14 and BBC), and CFB.
Location: Marcinica, Rodica;

NASA, United Nations, A4 = Tablet Prices Worldwide;
More members (10) 499 per month.
Only two of the five brothers and friars are present.
"Marshall You" Below) New and Old Taxes in Canada.
Bullets and promises to finish.
At the age of 13 all systems and GM Gone 1.
But the woman was not there,
First, to set up a Security Council. And it's open.
You know that Bukhari is a ******* and a man.
Robert Robert Fischler
Brethren, men and women, "d.
The Church is in the prosperity of war, not in man.
Budget "italian italian.
Also see 4.6-3.15% 7 white.
Some aspects of God's life, love, and essence.
The fungus did not laugh at anything,
the acre grows in chloride.
Although it seems too late, And your employees,
as well as the hearts of Google, The cities
are in the dark. It's in math. She was also a hero.
You love it, and that does not mean that.
Dating
Third, to cover expenses due to math and money.
After that, people have their legs, legs
and feet and die. It is about fixing the problem.
father Thomas Holmes. If it's a software tool.
Girls, young people, and stars are most likely
to be found Although fish need many weapons
The basis for experimental production
for many banana models. Throw knives.
The temple is smoking; Talk about social
community. Wait for someone to try Sick child
My mother and my mother were great
This is a foolish idea.
However, easy for sky blue views, mother's time
Hunger is a ****** of violence and violence.
The battle against cancer
Natural Offers.
Imported Legal conditions are unique.
They are bury in the dragon. View the image of a city
sent to Google to ask. Parameter
The first car is a spiritual test.
She lost her food [To have a large stock of girls].
Belize's business is similar to using copper knives
Belize, Asian and Iranian parents and relatives.
AIDS death rate You will feel good at first,
global change. The Roma have become
one of the poorest hairs of the hair. From Alexandria
Business The boy said, "I'm fine.
Some problems, "It's a day for me.
If you can not connect, The 1490 Asian
Asian Stage Insights
South America, Asia, Latin America, 14, L = 4%
July 14, England, England.
In the United States, Julia Bari, 914 L4, EE. UU:
Spanish 14:14 and BBC), and CFB.
Location: Marcinica, Rodica;

NASA, United Nations, A4 = Tablet pricing worldwide;
More members (10) 499 per month.
Only two of the five brothers and French are present.
"Marshall You"
Below) New and Old Taxes in Canada.
Bullets and promises to finish.
At the age of 13 all systems and GM Gone 1.
But the woman was not there,
First, to set up a Security Council.
And it's open. You know that Bukhari is a ******* and a man.
Robert is Robert Fischler;
Brothers, men and women, "d."
The church is in the bounty of war, not man.
Budget "Italian Italian.
Also, see 4.6 to 3.15% 7 white.
Some aspects of life, God's love and essence.
The mushrooms are not laughing at anything,
the sugar is growing in chloride. Even though
it seems too late, And your employees as well
as Google's chests, The cities are in the dark.
It is in mathematics. She was also a hero.
You love her, and that does not mean that.
Dating Third, to cover the cost due to mathematics
and money.
After this, people have feet, legs, and feet,
and they die. It's about fixing the problem.
father Thomas Holmes. If it is a software tool.
Girls, young people and stars are more likely to be found
Although the fish need a lot of weapons
The basis for experimental production
for many banana models. Thieves thieves.
The temple is in a smoke
Talk to the social community.
Wait for someone to prove it
The ill child My mother and my mother
were wonderful This is an idea taken.
However, easy for heavenly views, mother's time
Hunger is a ****** of violence and violence.
The battle against cancer Natural Offer. imported
Legal conditions are unique.
They are buried in the dragon.
See the image of a city sent to Google to search
out the parameter The first car is a spiritual test.
She missed her food
Have a great stock of girls.
Belize's business is similar to the use of copper knives
Belize, Asian and Iranian parents and relatives.
The death rate from the death of AIDS
You will feel good in the first, global changes.
Roma have become one of the poorest hair of hair.
From Alexandria Business
The boy said, "I'm fine. Some problems, "It's a day for me.
If you cannot connect,
The Asian 1490 Asian Stage Insights
South America, Asia, Latin America, 14, L = 4%
July 14, England, England.
In the United States, Julia Bari, 914 L4, EE. UU:
Spanish 14:14 and BBC), and CFB.
Location: Marcinica, Rodica;

NASA, United Nations, A4 = Tablet Prices Worldwide;
More members (10) 499 per month.
Only two of the five brothers and friars are present.
"Marshall You" Below) New and Old Taxes in Canada.
Bullets and promises to finish.
At the age of 13 all systems and GM Gone 1.
But the woman was not there,
First, to set up a Security Council.
And it's open. You know that Bukhari is a *******
and a man. Robert Robert Fischler
Brethren, men and women, "d.
The Church is in the prosperity of war, not in man.
Budget "italian italian.
Also see 4.6-3.15% 7 white.
Some aspects of God's life, love, and essence.
The fungus did not laugh at anything, sugar
is growing in chloride. Although it seems too late,
And your employees, as well as the hearts
of Google, The cities are in the dark.
It's in math. She was also a hero. You love it,
and that does not mean that.
Dating Third, to cover the cost due to math and money.
After that, people have legs, legs and feet and die.
It is about fixing the problem.
father
Ben Jul 2016
They put her in a
Curtained cubicle
Surrounded by
Beeping machines
And all types of
Wires and terminals
A trashcan and
A dripping faucet

When they rolled her in
They gave her
Morphine
Sodium chloride
And a pat on the head

"She's lucky"
The nurse said
As he lowered the gurney
"A lot of people have
No one show up"

And he left the room
Pulled the curtain closed
We were left with the
Tranquil beeping of
Faceless terminals
And the dripping faucet

Another nurse came in
With a clipboard
And started asking us
Questions
Apologizing for
The beeping
"It's like Chinese
Water torture"

Then she left
Pulled the curtain closed
And when the
Heart monitor
Started beeping
We pushed the
Silence button like
They showed us

We were left with
The sterile squeaking
Of the soles of sneakers
And hollow whispers
In the hallway
And the dripping faucet
Freeform
Vernarth passed his house, opening his skylight, he soon felt that his parents were fighting, being able to realize that those aggressive words came from generational hindrances that anticipated the luminous tubular Omega, in the global level split from its lower part, (ω) above and it happens at the beginning of a beginning based on the end of a beginning a thousand times more than a threshold based on hundreds, appropriate from the metric unit of the numeral Myriaz = ten thousand, three times more than the Falangists, one thousand less than the Peltasts and three thousand less than the horsemen, total thirty-seven thousand less than the fighting forces in Gaugamela out of a total of forty-seven thousand, under the myriad Myriaz of Falangists undermined by their Xifos in the area of the right instep of each man faithful under his command, before facing the Achaemenides. Being Omega and Micrón in the warlike primer of their cause, within the prophetic in all necropolis of tiny omega (ω), towards an Omega that reaffirmed the upright hand in Saint John the Apostle to rewrite the Apocalypse twice, being the same one but with the voice of Vernarth commanding the ten thousand Falangists, who made up the inter-generational gaps, but of camouflaged alien ancestors. For this purpose, he opened the windows with their pillars sheathed with tetrachloride chloride, at solid angles of Ω, in what was Virgo institutionum / Oarion-entity that was intruded by the projections and leaks that converged on the strut of the omphalos of his celestial father dealing in frequency and bleeding of immortality, becoming from a helper to the planes of subconscious reprogramming and perspective. With his arms raised, and in each hand a sword raised to pierce the vanishing point, between the spaces that were assigned, under the solid projection, from an observer that inhibits ad limit the biomass in all the masses of aqueous filter and lumens, towards the throne of the angelic guardian of avant-guard by the stereotype and the sclerosis of Zeus in dissociated physicality, even though it is an amorphous entity and with pulverized magnitudes, between Pi and Golden numbers, fading away without area or volume. Vernarth in his humanoid apocalypse transfigured from a solid point in Hyperdisis as a direct escape settlement to Oarion, towards a conical vestige surface in three-dimensionality towards Andromeda, the Milky Way, and the shoulder of Betelgeuse.

Vernarth distracted the emeritus stars in the corner of his room and in the convexality of the points of his celestial parents in conical spheres of perenniality, leaving only solid angles in each of the two parts of space-delimited by two semi-planes that start from his common edge, under the ideal geometric concept and that it is only possible to partially represent it as duplication in parallelograms with a common side, symbolizing two half-planes, making from all distances seclusion of visions as a culmination of imagination and apparent angles, viewed from any point the Celestial Vault in invisible counterpoint.

The decalcified cells of Vernarth sang with Sophocles in choruses after the victory of Salamis. Already being a tragedy in the next act of the prologue and their friendship bordering on his tragedy, he continues to exist in energetic arms to write, and Vernarth to dispute the characters from a regular prologue writing the hemo-verses with his own blood, which traveled meters and that shrunk from the anti-verses, scarring their declaimed intra-breath, in choruses that only the wind clarifies of what precedes and happens towards suffering, in the metrics of the Areimos chorus that lectured anti-verses, which they tried to ****** from his hands to Sophocles, in the immortality that refined him by abandoning him in sub-units. With masks and mythical cycles he mixed the metaphorical facsimile of the momentum of separation of friendship with him, seeing it in an episode of his works, and instead of Vernarth's transcript, sheltering origins of volatilization in his choirs, converted into physical waves of a dramatic order -oracular. Gods re-transformed into divination and futuristic germination, who hid asleep and forgotten in a time of subconsciousness of the Selenite heritage, felt in Colossi of signs of parliamentary, where the oracle leans on the lines of the vibrational words and how they cough their " páthis ”in the place that speaks the language dissociated from the heart nucleus. In misguided divination, the oracular mantic brought the cold of solitude and the heat of fire that divines the forests on laurels of oracular daphnomancy, towards the ironies that banish the degrading systematized of frantic nervous suffering, burning in defaults of neurasthenia, before an omega elixir and neuro-analysis, given the ontogenetic passions, before cutting the nasal protrusion that crosses the fallopian tube, for the healing by fragmenting with the smell the existence of other genetic amphibologies of myth-genia, and that bifurcate the challenge of anger and disappointment of taking him with him in this suffering, taken from smell to disenchantment after thousands of unfortunate lunations against the tósigo that fills with appetite and perfidious reptile, on who walks on our destiny without knowing who it is that creeps.
Vernarth omega sets himself up as a versatile column that temporalizes the threads of his organic brain, creating synaptic logos in Pashkein on the alert of abandoning the arm that rewrites his heroic Sophoclean and tragediographic biography of ancients traveling in disintegrated emotionality and ****** Hellenic neurotransmission, “Two men omega in omega speedometers, carrying neurons from ankylosed and frustrated herd of pleasure for tripartite meso-form and roughing of routine Alzheimer's losses, lost in routines of the sympathetic and para-sympathetic, with the probability of loss of Hellenic gray matter; that is to say, of all memory that does not sin of ignorance in the ancient world, in more than nineteen hours and hours of vehemence, with brightened dangers of reliving umpteenth times in the twilight of omega, transcript and biological bend towards the man heavy with anguish, and more distant in all the lacerated ones that have mutilated or almost mutilated the conversion of the sternocleidomastoid, crushing the shoulders and the magical healing on the nasal sinuses, which strangle the pains in the face of selective suffering, indicative of rational martyrdom and temporary unhappiness in " extreme combat of dissatisfaction ”, allowing to channel resilient neurons that transit towards the neck for reasons that not even the neck understands, lobbing as it is not foreshadowed, neither in oracle, nor in its frustrating focal matter.
Vernarth, was already narrowing on the tracóntero Eurídice, to save his pains, deposed in terms that would renew anti economies of supplying unsustainable liquefactions and synaptic melts, extra energized of molds of purely natural law of the eyebrows and lunation that rests in the inter millennium, beating with ecstasy in the Buddhist Suttas, and in the adaptation of the flesh in the hypersonic fissures of the Metelmi and in the attachments that still beat on the dermis of pain. Vernarth draws his sword Xifos of phenomenal structure and cuts it over the Sutta or sermon that imitated the lunation to the compass, making this a sabotage of redemption and anti-verse from the court of Sophocles, as a myth-saboteur and anti-value, overestimating the tricks of the same utilitarian tragedy, defeating itself in the curtain of mourning and sadness, unguarded and overcome by the stoic duel of joy.
From here Vernarth opens the gates of hell, eight hundred times going mad with omega value, which by reiterating omeganymy, creates the numbering of the anti-verse and the suffering that does not even sleep further from the departure of a soul and in a body-only Asleep of omega concavity, superimposed on golden transfinite chests, which rearrange the natural numerals with those of transfinite ordinal omega, but on frictionless wheels of other omegas that break the recirculation rules on Alpha, on supra Omega levels like Parados -Estásimos- Episode and paradigmatic Exodus Vernarth-Omega.

Prologue Omega I:

Once upon a time, amidst the rain of clouds full of drama, in a time that was of the oriented regime of the Subacal of Betelgeuse and Aorion, 334 BC, it was the penultimate breeze of Tsambika, in the spiritual devotion that hovered over the unison voice in the magnanimous Zeusian chorus, as an alternating event of imprisoning past and future in an episode of the present act. The expectant was curious about the retouched makeup and superlative consonant of the drama, in a disembodied place, but with a good narrative source to bring it to fruition. Here the myth is plausible, among everything mythical, more than all the super sums of expectations of the Isimous.

Párodo I: "For the submissive words in the proscenium of the trident fire, where I have to warm my hands with ashes of eternal fire"
(Directing the scenes through the coripheum, there is the master lord who, in flames by unequal numbers, peoned in the Aulos and piccolos, whose bare feet bordered the risk of the bellies of the Maenad damsels united in processions, between princes, powers
and Dionysian dances holding on to the Pufios; in Baquiana and ceremonial liturgy near Vernarth, taking every seven minutes a glass of animadversion, in the tasting of his little finger, which screamed of organic pimping, together with the dancers raising one arm and directing the palm towards the sky, while the other remained down with the palm facing the ground; in this position that was already like Vernarth buried by the tides of Patmos wandering him in times that marked the entrance from Mars to Jupiter and from autumn to winter in fifteen times agreed with Sophocles, hanging from the third to last towards the entrance with his trembling voice desalted..., swallowing in his own tragedy)

Esthasimo II: "Through the right half body, Vernarth intoned what his laterality exposed him in harsh gloom, as Hera brandished oats and sweets clouds over his existentialism, which in the homily liturgy personified the stasis, in between coral bearing his hands enraged with tragic passion in his frenzy, unleashing oratory of self-blame, unraveling drama-tragic, and in each pause the emotion that was accompanied in new episodes of stirring up "

(Vernarth says: “submitted to parts that are not its parts because my pain has blinded me, where it has embittered the conflict of ethical interest if the stars as an applauded public are invested, who sentence the opposition of other lesser stars than They cheer what does not shine. The principle of the voice violates the normal parenthesis, which is governed by the omega voice, mocked in a modal by four magistrates, in the martyrdom of an idea of the procession, each one wearing his toga of super deprivation, before me that I will not be the one who recognizes if I will be who I am, on the seventh judgment of my surviving ethics)

Episode I: "Vernarth extrapolates the values of the judgment, of him that they annul the first, the coryphaeus directs his promenade from the countryside on his Alikanto Horse"

(Vernarth says: “I have instantiated the steps that in the future my chestnut crossed with you if I am to sing with a sorrowful voice, no choir will be able to follow me when you are no longer there. However, I have to guide what personifies who more than a thousand miles carries with him the chandelier that opens the light of your gazapa gaze... "

Alikanto wailing says: "From the luster of your heartbeats, I dazzled the jailer from your ribs, for the preference of those who take you even further in stormy prose pro-agonist"

Exodus I: “Sometimes the endings smell like lavender fields, where the call of the almighty is heard, to take him over his loaded plantations, which are emerging from the afternoon dialogues with their twilight, as well as stanzas that smell of anointing of lavenders, separated into syllables and tonic that arch my charm, not to say that I was anointed with Lavender as a child "
(In fifteen times, and syllables and rakes, they are sterilized in the sentences of their paragraphs, leaving the audience speechless, without a gesture or word that emanates from a sacred paradise, rather from the stasis that never purged the omission of the syllable that is not proscenium or trident, but it is umlauts on Omega, between syllables of fire that burn from its proscenium)
Vernarth Omega (Ω) - Preface / Part 19
Babu kandula Jul 2014
I am loved to be
Strong in relationships
Like common salt
We daily use
Sodium Chloride(NaCl)
Ionic bonding
But, I am afraid of
Water (H2O)
Can have
Strength to
Break us
How strong we are
Making situation worse
Here water is some unknown
external force
I am afraid this will affect our
Relation
Mellifluous Feb 2012
I'm two different people
They're polar opposites

My chemistry teacher has probably seen it

Everyone has

Just like hydrogen chloride
You don't have to go through the hell of a textbook to solve this one

I lie to myself

I want everyone to see how lonely and hurt I am, tell me I can trust them, hold me
I want to be loved
I don't want to be alone

When you're around you need to stay
Everything's better and it all goes away
I never knew what that was like

But that's the thing about polarity,
the positive comes with a negative

Go away

Go away
As far as you can
Run and break your ankle
But don't, I can't stand to see you hurt

Why won't you love me?

LEAVE

Leave
Or care

And I become pathetic

I miss you and I can't make up my mind

...

I guess molecules don't do that
My eyes feel like acid,
Last night’s tears still hurt.
R Nov 2015
so limp,
so frail.
so dead.

inject potassium chloride
into me next.
please.

maybe that'll finally stop
my already dead
heart.
He sprinkles salt in my wounds, gently, as every word digs deeper and deeper
He deprives my life of flavor, saving it like ammo for the next fresh water war
He buries me in a pile of crystals
Shining, sparkling, dazzling, until they dehydrate every ounce of ambrosial hope
He throws salt over his shoulder for 'good luck', leaving anything and everything behind him burning, withering
Like binging and purging, the ocean rolling in and out, he's suffocating me under what he claimed was sugar
Like the mastermind behind water-boarding, he jerks me left and right, pure and tainted, innocent and soiled
He promises that this time it's Confectioner's
He promises the water he's leading me to is fresh
But every time it's salt
And I'm the definition of insane, constantly falling for the same look in his eyes, the same half smile
And every grain is one hundred lies,
And every grain brings another ten-year war
Sodium chloride might as well be cyanide
Simple table salt bottles may as well be containers of gunpowder
We're fighting through the desert, sand turned into his favorite compound
We're losing, bleeding, lacerated, with only his promises as bandages
I'm betrayed by my own body, as I wipe my tears and realize their chemical makeup
I'm trying to explain why I panic if my dish is too salty, why I panic if I'm near the ocean
I'm rebuilding my pallet, substitution after substitution
I'm learning to use other spices
I'm remembering the taste of a simpler world.
I'm washing over my scars with water I filtered myself.
Crimsyy Jan 2017
Vinyl Chloride

I will never believe
in you again,
There is harm in
trusting a delusive
person like you;
Your damage replays,
others can see the
debris from your mistakes;
if only I were made of bricks,
then maybe, you
wouldn't weigh as much,
but because I'm
not made of bricks,
I'm
vulnerable,*
starring tired flesh
and equally tired heart.
Pea Jul 2016
1 a.m.
"sylvia plath aesthetics" on google search
overwhelmed by the pages excerpts
click a link
close the tabs
tosca curtains
tv sound
smoking brothers
polka dot pajamas matching the face
wonder if the mirror would break today
religious villa
wide glass windows not high enough
useless hills
some are sleeping
shy ghosts
panic attacks
catch breath like solar cells
sunless
penniless
nostalgic sourness
hydrogen chloride solution in water
stomachache
period 4 days late
muscle spasms
skeletal recreation
fireworks
involuntary flow of old stale traumas
haven the escapee
banana diet and menopause
blank tombstone: a perfect biography
THE CHILDREN ARE AWAKE & CRYING
THE MOTHER IS YELLING

im always screaming at heart
Crimsyy Jan 2017
Vinyl Chloride*

I try to soothe
my haggard mind
late at night,
I try to run from you,
because your damage
soaked all my bones
and all the happiness I owned.
Your name dug my grave
ahead of time,
I'm sorry, but you crossed a line;
You cannot trespass my heart,
you cannot say you loved me most
because when I bled in the dark,
your presence was a ghost.
will19008 Jun 2019
lost ardor, long hidden beneath these initial wastes
pinpointing the mines and matters, estimations and worth
your excavation operating on the surface of my bereavement
without any evaluation of its dolorous costs or the extent
of these ductile veins, rivers through our subterranean natures
your shadow requirements, eroded and befouled

now, neither my eyes nor I much love your dark
epicardial secrets, projecting deposits of debris, the chloride fragrance
of our secrets, hidden fires underground; your love, all and away
digging, mining proposed new lovers out of us both; gravels and
pain and gas; ferrous exploration; uranium reclamation anew via
caustic layers of ore and deposits of once-flowing love

alloys of dead flowers and waste form my rocks
seething into scabrous life like bantling cacti after a lover has risen
such risks always require a proportion of love be livid, recoverable;
threads of passion dissolved in the complexities of the body
grains of unconsolidated minerals evoking love and potash
yes, secret metallurgists like you pose acidic dangers
to my soft endocardial things
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
Punished by the sun
in a desert of our love.

Slipshod the sailing stones,
how dispassion speckles the playa floor,
salt pans dissolve motivating force.

I'm a man returning to his ground.
You're a woman seeking refuge
in the cracked crevices of my rib cage.

So far below sea level,
where does love go from here to survive?

Perhaps, Chloride City
and the grave of a James McKay?

Maybe at Bottle House in Rhyolite,
the "Queen City"?

Either way, this sensation has become an unsacred mirage:

the watering hole, a leadfield,
with which we can only look back from.

Praying the sulfur in the sky
passes on from this place,

before we turn into something sodium, something akin to
Lot's careless wife.
Francisco DH Apr 2013
It quickly became clear that I had to stop the chase
So I turned my back and felt the tears stream down my face

I didn't want to let go, to move on to some new boy
To show another love and admiration
But it became apparent, like when the sun's fingers touch my skin, that I had to.

So I began to walk and let myself crumble, let my walls tumble
I tried hard not to trip and fumble, but I failed and stumbled

I had to look back, just had to. Would I my atoms change form and become Chloride and Sodium, bond together to turn me to a pillar of salt?  Would looking into his eyes halt my heart and turn in cold as my muscles, bones, and blood turned to rough granite?

I turned to face him, turned to his direction
The chance of stay live was grim but I need to see his complexion

And I saw it
And I saw him
And I saw his eyes
And.....
17th Mar 2016
let's sway as the honey runs through our veins
let's forget ourselves as we stand on the edge
you really struck a nerve on me
you really made me forget myself

this is nearly the end
for you and me could be
but from far behind I will just forget about the end
you keep staring at me
even when I'm down
I almost feel as confident
as you

I found myself sitting down in the pool
chloride blue
no surprise this is often how it's done
but lately it's about all you can take
but mainly it's because your life it's the same

maybe the scars won't matter when I'm asleep
Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019
He is a man who rules a woman's
Sexuality of *** rather from the
games of Old times hidden Long
hair at least 7 years ago
Amazing Spider's Ripple spider
Lori, Lori 18 years with the compact
warrior; Very little MINI
and a half pounds in some stars;
Tom Thomas Dakota, New, A Boi,
French Romanian Latin Black, Hard
and strong 18 Ryan Returns Red
Glittering Big Goblin Neutral Goblin
Influence - beautiful tooth decay
and old dolls, all languages,
Semi-Hellenic citizenship and Arabs.
Black skin and bones, hydrogen
and other materials are hard,
firm but hard to see in the nineteenth
century. The primary cause
of this system is kidney or helium /
chloride / child /
death / sun / skin disease BC.                    But there are many popular travels
in Cincinnati. "KARNIKA 546 EVENTS"
was very short ... The full name Rahi,                                             Sadia Bali,
who climbed to the best cells,
sometimes Taliban Pep Juan Mauritius -
John King of Rome. The right answer is
"an unknown wave,       so MyHealthHe
is the first in the Indian Ocean".
But it is better for your mother
and grandparents when you are sleeping
in the Roma family. He now supports
the Toledo rule and the golden gold huts.
"In 1848,   the French wanted to play
one of the 18 contestants in the world,
but a young girl went to school
and gave her daughter a good teacher,
4 Samay, and I expected Haydazan
and another community to tell me
to do it this is the main reason for this:
"It's the same word that is very
similar to the word" ll ",                                                      but it's a bad word.
It is the same thing that happened
to Kevin Jovín - Roman King Kimi
This is the true answer: "I'm so happy,                       I hope to grow my life."
"Duggy Pegg, Mahatma Kei
And the Kumhaekkid
"There are poor people, Dodo,"
Machine Part Machine,
Then Rushu and each used by Rachel,
          You cannot do it.
RedQueen Feb 2017
Every time I think of you,
you make my heart swell
that it feels as if I have been
diagnosed with potassium chloride overdose.

— The End —