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Johnnie Rae Oct 2016
I. Your touch is like bones breaking; unforgettable, and breathtaking.
   I know that normally people don't associate love with broken bones
  but even when you cause me pain, I am still so effortlessly in love.

II. On the day that you made me yours,
     you rekindled a fire in me that I thought
    had long since died.

III. And in those eyes that resemble speckled emeralds,
      I see a future brighter than I could have made for myself.
     The feeling is treacherous, to love someone more than yourself.

IV. The thought of you lingers in my bone marrow,
      and it doesn't leave, not even in sleep,  
      you live within my bloodstream.

V. You ignite a fire inside me,
     hotter than I knew was possible in relative existence,
    and every day I burn for you, slow and consistent.

VI. Sometimes I wish you would strip me down
      and love me like a limited resource,
      like I'm a priceless medal, or gem of iridescent hue.

VII. You're the type of guy that gets me to put my phone down
        and that's an accomplishment in itself.
        you're more interesting than the internet, and that's romanticism.

VIII. Your kiss is like electricity, but instead of electrocution,
         you send shivers down my spine,
        and put the sparkle in my eyes.

IX. They say that home is where the heart is,
      and before I met you, I'd never been home before,
      you are my home.

X. I've run out of words to tell you how much I love you
    so now my next mission is to transcribe a new language,
    to do just that.
Charles Barnett Feb 2011
Electrocution: n. killing by electric shock.

Lightning strikes and I'm alone again.
fingers tracing scalp like scars.
Breath short and sour like so many
worried words and kneejerk reactions.

Finger in the socket and I'm
laughing a laugh that only
I can hear.
Smiling a smile that I used to
only show to one other.

Toaster in the bathtub and
I'm cast aside, seperated by
mistakes I made and words
"I don't love
you
anymore"
Part 2 of 3. Second part of a trilogy containing Electricity, Electrocution, and The Calm.
Liz Jul 2017
You want closer?
You want deeper?
You want me to stop hiding?

I stopped hiding long ago
I cut myself open
So you could see
All the deepest parts of me

I poured myself out
So you could taste me
And know what flavors
Assemble me

But you withdraw
Distance yourself
Reinforce your walls
And ask me to
Know you.

I'm digging
And fighting
To reveal you
But I cannot force you
To unlock your doors

I cannot dig tunnels
Under your walls
I cannot chase you in circles
If you do not want to be caught

I did my part
I bled myself dry
Now it's your turn

Don't put me behind glass
And tell me it's my fault
That we lack a deeper connection

If you want something rooted
In truth
In love
You have to tell me who you are
Use canned spaghetti as thread to stitch together the frayed edge of your t-shirt. Use your t-shirt to show how you’re the coolest most-hippest, most up with the kids kid there is. Where’d you get that shirt? Online.

Bop your head to the music so they know you know this song. Harder or they won’t see you. That’s not hard enough. Neck snap! Yeah, right there. Hold still while I take a photo. Do you mind if I make this my cover photo?

Take a selfie of you crying in the bathroom and hashtag it. Snapchat it to your local MP so they know how you feel - be sure to use an emoji. #studentdebt Tears streaming down your face. (If it’s a hashtag it’s easier to emotionally process.) #policebrutality #throwbackthursday #massincaceration It’s a good thing there’s emojis for black people now. Look at how far we’ve come!

#nomakeup #vegan #crueltyfree #childslavelabour #iwokeuplikethis #campusrape #notallmen #yesallwomen #freethenipple #2k16 #mentalhealthcuts #stopkillingtranswomen #waterislife #standwithstandingrock

Have you followed Human Rights on Facebook? It’s the only way to get them. Have you seen the Ted Talk about it? In just 20 minutes you’ll know everything there is know about it.

Sorry. You don’t seem like you’re focused. You’re thirsty? Let me make you a smoothie.
I’ll put the chocolate bar in the blender whole, leave the wrapper on. Taste the tinfoil and the plastic. Eat the barcode, become the product. That’s modern life.

Don’t take out the hair or the fingernail or the Band-Aid. Don’t hide from the human components of the production line that made this Kit-Kat possible for you, kid. That’s modern life.

Go to the voting booth, refuse to choose between the diversity of 50 versions of the same smiling white man. Scrawl: **** these ******! (have no faith in none of them) That’s modern life.

With jittering teeth and goosebumps, put your toaster in the sink. Overflow it with water. You will only need a fork to get warm. Electrocution is the most economical form of heating. Be Energywise. That’s modern life.

Puff marijuana smoke through the bars into the brown faces of those who were incarcerated for doing what you freely do now. That’s modern life.

Burn your eyes on the screen. But before you do, memorise the 0800 number for the optometrist.

Post your suicide note on YikYak to save paper. No-one likes reading hard copies these days anyways. #papercuts #selfharm

Search for motivation on EBay. If you’re lucky it’ll have free shipping and arrive in 1-5 business days.

Snapchat your friend’s words of encouragement, God knows they’ve seen enough dickpics.

Take a chicken to KFC and tell them you’re sorry.

Get in the cars of the men who yell “Hey baby!”. They’ll be so surprised they wont know what to do next.

Swap your woman-chest with a man-chest and see if your ******* are still illegal.

Drive through town throwing dirt with one hand and seeds in the other. Maybe, if you do it long enough this claustrophobic concrete will be gone.

Bleed on every seat until the government pays for menstrual products.

Train seagulls to throw YOU chips.

**** a woman and a man simultaneously, so that you can be sure everyone knows you’re bisexual.

Blockade inaccessible buildings with piles of wheelchairs.

Grab time by the fabric and rip it, cuz we all know rips look really punk, and all you really are is just some young punk.
i wrote this last year and i hated that poetry class too
IrieSide Sep 2019
Is it their fault
for being unworthy of respect?

Or is it our own,
for not respecting them?

Adjust your world vision,
to the right view
see beauty in everything
and not chaos
echo consciousness
throughout eternity

run, run, run
dear truth seeker,
keep your mouth shut
and be vigilant

...

Unravel lavender rolls of
galactic neon rugs
and crisscross  
high lighter
unchained replicas
of nature's black universe
unwind the tight-knit mind
that society gave us

a retired leopard
of spots that radiate sun
from what jungle are you?

warmth to red
and quickly fading
reality
this is death,
fellow soldier

enlighten life,
fall time lanterns
of fleshly glow
breathing life
into heart beat
patterns

the time is now,
program, control, re-wire
circuitry soldered  
into electrocution's
infinity  

I learned from the Redwoods
meditation,
peace with life
and absolute confidence
I repel fire and live long
contend me,
a ghost of no face
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
Edna's Special Recipes No. 4:

"Le pit bull à la français"

By Edna

At this festive time of year, why be boring and choose a turkey? Especially since the poor creatures have been reared intensively, overfed and fattened artificially, kept in a cage or in a filthy shed, never having seen the sunshine.

So Edna says: offer your family something rather different this Christmas, something a little unusual.  Had you ever considered an American Pit Bull Terrier?  A Pittie may not be the first thing which springs to mind for Christmas dinner and I admit there are some drawbacks: they are difficult to get hold of: neighbours' pets are a dangerous option and modern intensive Pittie-farming methods don't work as the brutes are far too savage for most farmhands; also they have relatively little meat on them, being mainly muscle and hatred. However, these negatives are offset by the joy any fun-loving chef will gain from killing the ******* and you, as hostess, will bask in the happiness of your family as they contemplate what they are about to receive.

First, it is important only to use a FRESHLY killed mutt as Pit Bulls do not freeze well (they struggle and bark for what seems ages once shoved into the freezer) and the pre-packed, pre-gutted ones you will find in your local supermarket are likely to have been battery-reared and force-fed in order to put a bit of extra flesh on. Believe me, nothing quite matches the texture of a freshly killed Pittie. And of course, you get the head as a bonus for your pet cats to play with.

A stranger's pet is my own preferred animal as a neighbour might see you skulking round their back garden with a pick axe and twig what you were up to. So, off you go in the car and seek out your dinner. Once you have found a suitable four-legged meal, follow the owner home, wait for the right moment and then get the chloroform pads in action. One for the owner and one for the dog. Pop the zonked-out mutt into the strong black canvas bag you brought with you, shove it into the back of the car and off you go!

So now you've got your hound: what's the best way to **** it?  We gourmets have argued over this for years: decapitation, drowning, hanging, electrocution or beating to death with a sledgehammer? My own favourite method is to drop the drugged brute into a large tin bathtub of warm water and then add the 240v power cable. The expression on the dog's face when the volts kick in is fabulous but you need to be careful in case it leaps out of the bath and goes for your jugular. Hanging from a high tree, accompanied by extensive tenderizing with a baseball bat is a safer but equally enjoyable option. Two further benefits are that hanging is not so messy as the drowning/electrocution route and the whole family can watch a hanging in safety instead of having to risk the dog leaping out of the tub.

Once you are sure the dog is dead (about five minutes after it's stopped kicking and moaning), take it down and cut the head off with a cleaver.  Carefully remove the ears for use as decoration. If you have no cats to give the skull to, shove it on the top of your Christmas tree to provide a family talking point.

Next, skin the dog and discard, bearing in mind that it would be unwise to leave the telltale evidence for the binmen. My flaying advice is to use a sharp knife starting at the **** and working my way up to the neck. Be sure to remove all the ****** parts, as these do NOT taste good. It's nice to roast a Pittie whole, but few people have an oven big enough (unless you scored for a puppy that is). So, carefully cut up the cadaver into two or three separate joints. The following recipe is suitable for a nice shoulder or leg.

Rub all over with freshly ground sea salt and black pepper; make a series of deep incisions in the flesh at two-inch intervals and carefully insert slivers of fresh garlic. Place in your largest Le Creuset ***, with two pints of Evian water, a half-bottle of a full-bodied red wine, half a dozen French oignons and bring to the boil. Then reduce the heat and simmer for two to three hours, depending on weight. Be sure to check every 20 minutes that the liquid hasn't boiled away! Add extra wine and olive oil as necessary. Once the meat is tender, your dog is ready!

Serve your Pit Bull with mashed potatoes and a nice salad. I find a fruity Beaujolais drinks very well with stewed Pittie à la français but my paddy friends swear by Guinness. Whatever your tipple, enjoy our meal! And think: because of your caring approach to Christmas, one more turkey will live to see New Year and the world is rid of another Pit Bull horror.
michael gagain May 2013
Current coursing through your body

It's time to die, you killed somebody



Thousands of volts, it takes a minute

The electric chair,your sitting in it



Your guts are cooked from the inside

Like a microwave, ten times the size



Your eyes come out ,the weakest link

Your mind it sizzles from the heat



Now your thought,you always think

as your skin, turns a pink



You did not do this crime at all

some one let you take the fall



It is to late, nothing to do

but hope this ends very soon for you



Your found guilty of taking a life

you need to hurry and seek contrite



Your heart it beats one last line

as the voltage seems to take it's time



Now you sit in your last throne

electrocuted to the bone



Your mother crying, for her son

the electric chair she has won
Amy Grindhouse Jan 2014
I would scale the highest
most decrepit radio towers in the world
the rusted metal crumbling against my feet
Risking electrocution and the constant threat of falling
as I rewire the ancient spiderweb of cabling
so I can hear even the faintest transmission of your voice
I'll clutch a stained and faded photograph of us
The only remainder after most everything digital
dies out in flickers of dormant transistors and dissipated binary
I'll protect it from acidic rain and the grit of persistent dust storms
So little resources left in a continent of incinerated cities
yet this picture of you and I is all I will need to keep moving
When I finally find you
I will fight against all impossible odds and potential ends
I'll walk entire burnt out highways with you just to make one last stand
I will carry you across these deserted wastelands and returning forests
To show that even after the bombs drop
My love belongs to you
Jesse John Sep 2013
Separated only by time and time so far.

From the big bang
We crossed like ants
and from that point
I turned around

I ran after you
Reaching my hand to grab you as
you fell over this beautiful ocean,

And as I succeeded
and felt the warm touch of your hand for a moment
I knew you were salt as I am pepper

But alas;
we are separated
Separated only by time

And as time goes on
I continue to study your book
and every line pops out at me
As an amazing jigsaw puzzle fitted together

You are an oustanding author
You are an outstanding work of art
but We can never be.

Your eyes send a
Flurry of electrocution through my soul.
The whole of myself lights up
from the mere sight of them.

But;

We can never be as long as
Your friendly friend I envy,
Continues to stand his place

I only hope we will cross again in the future
Only the future can tell
Separated only by time.
Separated only by me
Grey Feb 2016
You offered me your body,
I offered in return:

A tuna fish sandwich,
A nice piece of carnelian,
Maybe a book or two about odd things
like death by electrocution or Leonardo da Vinci
or the history of the upright bass,
Endless records,
Enough jazz to paint the world blue,
My mouth forming the shapes of notes,
A breath from my own lungs,
The scarf which was lovingly knit for me
by my one remaining friend,
Lipstick, bright red and smooth,
Feathers from a hawk that I found by the road,
Dried pink roses from a corsage,
Two baby teeth in a container that once held film,
Hair shorn with a dull kitchen knife,
A collar of cracked burgundy leather,
Sachets smelling faintly of lavender,
A mirror which was cracked on my thirteenth birthday,
One lace glove.

Why did you leave?
Tetra Hachiko Mar 2021
The one job I loved
You took away from me
I shouldn't give you that power
But you've got me on my knee
Now every day is monotony
The light so far away
The amount the pain weighs
Trying to breath everyday
But water filling my lungs as I say
"This can't be the way"
I can't see a resolution
Sitting through electrocution
Of your words and your apology
I can see through the psychology
Lack of personal responsibility
You're pure juvenility
"I want to be friends"
But seeing your mistake gives you the bends
You can't have it both ways
That's the phrase that pays
Allyssa Jul 2017
I wonder how many times you have climbed into a tub and thought,
"Wow maybe I could drown in hopes of escaping my life."
I dont know how many of you have thought that but let's just say a few.
One: I step into the tub with my left foot and the water is immensely warm.
Downing pills couldn't be that bad right now.
Maybe I could grab the bottle without anybody noticing.
I wonder if I could make my own concoction of medicine would suffice.
Concoction is a funny word.
Two: I step in with my right foot and everything is tingling from the heat.
If I charge my phone from the plug over there by the sink,
Could I electrocute myself?
I wonder how bad electrocution hurts.
Deep fried food would be nice right now.
Three: I sink into the tub and pull my knees to my chest.
if I lay back now and fight myself from breathing,
Could I do it?
I wonder how long it takes somebody to drown themselves in a tub while fighting their instinct to survive.
I could adapt and grow gills.
Four: I lay back into my tub and watch the water rise.
The water is warm and my body is heavy.
I can't **** myself because my headstone will be something sad,
My funeral will play music I'll hate listening to as a ghost,
People I don't even know will show up.
What if my ex shows up?
Five: I sink lower into the water until I can no longer hear clearly and it tickles the side of my eyes.
What's the point in breathing.
Breathing is so weird.
Why do I have to maintain a body that's going to die anyways?
I wonder what dying feels like.
Six: I've been in here for an hour. Maybe I should get out.
This water has turned mildly lukewarm.
I'd like to stay but I'm getting kinda cold and I like the warmth.
Could I just empty half and add more hot water?
I am sitting in a pool of my own dirt.
Great.
Seven: I'm climbing out while simultaneously pulling the stopper.
Theres so many different ways to say that you or somebody is dying;
Kick the bucket.
Pull the plug.
One foot in the grave.
Bite the dust.
Croak.
Some of them are kinda funny.
Eight: Realizing that I love baths but hate the thoughts that come with the quiet bathroom.
I'm exhausted.
The mental kind of exhausted.
Can I stop now?
Can I just lay down and close my eyes?
My anxiety is overworking me.
Nine: I open my door with a stiff towel and a cold room.
I love the quiet but the quiet kills.
I love my mind yet the way it works is poisonous to me.
Ten: Nothing.
Sitting.
Alone.
In my empty bedroom.
Yeah, that's a long title. No, it's not exactly a poem.
Donald Durham Oct 2010
I lie on an endless sea
Floating in circles of thought
Drifting on an eternity of feelings
Projecting on to an astral plane
My human emotions of fear and doubt
But longing, nay needing
What was given to me
At the explosive moment
When the soft Sayers of love and destiny
(who sit in waiting below bozos trademark
and above the triangle point of bone
at the bottom of the face)
Is finally and intimately
Introduced to the most exquisite
Opposite that sits in the
Same position as its opposite equal
And the muscle behind the spoken gates
Of anticipation is so energized with passion
They can no longer be held at bay,
Break free from hiding and searching
For reciprocated passion and
Emotional electrocution
And no, never, is there foulness
In the bitter morning cigarette
That pays homage between the lips
So proportionately perfect the introduction
Of unspoken breath between two sets
Of sayers, freezes time forever in a
Block of eternity called oblivion
Where everything that had ever happened
In time, from the big bang,
To the very second before,
Compressed collectively, pale in
Importance to this single solitary moment
Of forever.
I am a lost boy in this kiss
Where am I in this overload of
Sensory bliss
From the smell of her
As she washes over me
To the feel of her face and hair
As it glides through my fingers
Like wanderers on a pitch black night
Who need no light and
Require no map
For this is where my fingertips
Were meant to be
And they play the role, they were made for.
Then breath is held,
For it is no longer as important
To draw air into my lungs
Since I must already be dead
Because surely nothing else could be
As beautiful in my life as this, forever,
And when lips are ultimately
And unwillingly parted
And eyes are opened to what was
Lost and forgotten
In the stopping of time or
Was it lost in the meaningless of time
Whatever the case
My eyes have been opened
Not only to a more splendid sight
But to insight
An internal collection of every magnificent
Painting ever painted, and every
Wonderful word ever written, and all
The exquisite expressions ever spoken,
And every passion felt by those
Acutely intuned to their sensory system.
Alas, every magnificent, wonderful, exquisite
Occurrence was only a minor player
In history, until mankind's existence
Came to a ******
With but a kiss.
I am a river of everything
Of all that is wonderful and beautiful.
This is a story of a kiss
Just that one syllable
Alone and isolated in the expanse of
Larger words
But a kiss, this kiss, the first and only
Kiss ever
Is more important then words
Can say or express
With their limitations to coherent thinking
And more meaningful the my mind
Can comprehend in its broken down
Simplicity
A kiss
Nothing less
But everything more
A kiss to end all kisses
The envy of all other kisses
A wonderful, beautiful kiss
A kiss.
©Donld Durham 2010
Cunning Linguist Mar 2014
Lucifer just said I'm two-faced;
But the reality is I wear many faces
Each one a mask
Picking a bouquet of oopsie-daises
Unabashedly lashing out at you
I eviscerate; wielding a scalpel
Then I pounce; scalped him,
Pelt dangling from my ***** pack
Went Kerouac on ***** ***

Surprise, surprise
Palpable attack
Thumbing tacks into your eyes
Lame as a bad sitcom
Band-wagon careening off the laugh-track
Everybody loves disarray

****! Vamoose!
Underlying interloper
Feel the allusion in high resolution;
Little tike on the *****
Anne frankly I'm that Führer fomenting furor

Have you lost your marbles?
Inaudibly garbling warbled garbage
Mauled to death
I **** narwhals

Convoluted revolution
I revel in it
Elusive illusion
Testify, I bring the excellence in electrocution
I'm the executioner

Putting the fun in funeral
Like a neurotic necrotizing narcotic
A lobotomy to the temporal
I dreamt the demented torment of descent
Cascading like a torrential waterfall
Ghoulish delight

Primeval upheavaler
With hopes to elope, many fold
Mic bold, but I suspect she's hitting the slopes;
Ice cold
Evoking emotion but a hopeless show
marionette in a stranglehold
\
       =+===\===+=
        |  | \  |
        |  | |  |
        |  |_|_ |
        | %%%%%|
        |  % '  ' %|
        |  %\_/%|
        |\/    \  |
         \/|  |\/
          (   \
            \ \\
            / //
            \_))
martin Jun 2013
What should I say to cold callers?
"Not interested thank you "
"Yes, that is my name "
"No, actually my computer isn't broken "
"I think you need electrocution lessons, I can hardly understand you."

Or maybe I'll try this;

Mario, we had a deal now Mario
We shook hands ain't that right?
Meet me on the bridge my friend
Same time alone tonight

Bring the dough now Mario
You gotta pay your debt
I'm like that elephant you know
The one who don't forget

I got you covered Mario
I know your family
You gotta learn how to behave
Act responsibly

We're nearly brothers Mario
We share some blood I guess
So let's not spill it over this
Let's clear up this mess

           click
Filomena Rocca Aug 2022
The solution:
Electrocution.
I want my turkey fried.

The evolution:
Resolution.
I think I almost tried.

The conclusion:
Absolution.
I guess I haven't died.

From confusion
To inclusion
With those to whom I'm tied.
Psych ward poetry.
Set 3, poem 41.
frankie Jun 2018
with each word that you speak
i am paralysed with a fear i have never felt
frightened by each syllable because i can never tell if you mean the words that drip like poison from your lips

your eyes send shocks through my body
my bones are cracked from the electrocution of the fear surging in my veins, striking everything it comes into contact with like lightning

you as a being haunts me, your very soul possesses mine and while the horror of what you evoke inside of me is a nightmare coming to life
you make me feel like morticia addams, i crave the fright.
Michelle Garcia Mar 2016
Even the sturdiest trees in my backyard quiver like mad in the breath of a strong breeze. I am like them, as I panic over the thought of watching you brush effortlessly past my shoulders, the way hurricane wind has the power to sweep a grown man off his feet. I am cautious, tiptoeing around the idea of your absence like fallen power lines in the rain, trembling as I carry the precious moments I have spent with you in the safety of my own coat pockets so they will never feel the agony of electrocution. I am electrified, as I seek shelter from the storm within the comforting warmth of your arms. There are places where the sun flutters her fiery eyelids against waves that kiss shorelines like familiar relatives. There are places where park benches call us by name and ones that long day and night for our feet to grace their unexplored streets. There are words that hang in the atmosphere like hot air balloons waiting to carry us to newborn horizons. It is strange, how there are places where the skies do not bleed threats or cry in languages we cannot understand. How I know that we are metal statues standing embraced in a field during a lightning storm, and yet I would rather get struck with the energy of a thousand prayers if it meant that I could stay, frozen in time, for an eternity we are not guaranteed.
Stories about people aren’t really about people
this tale is a separate reality
full of opinions and perception based senses
I saw Michele’s addiction as a sketchy weather forecast
the most famous weathermen lie the most, ya know

She watched the sobriety of her life zoom by a whirlpool of backstreets
flew by them in Chance’s silver Chevy malibu going 80 mph
through our quiet suburban town
she waved at every lightning strike the moment before electrocution
you see, she was in love with blinding pain
out of control burning rubber scented pain
and I, tried so hard to be her fire extinguisher, her seatbelt
I wanted her smile to radiate every karat lodged in her throat
because her words are precious diamonds

Her mind is a museum built upon three floors
the first floor is tragedy
concrete blankets and concrete misconceptions
of what feeling safe is like
shadows with shark like teeth
she can never escape their threat of gnawing
it even reaches her on the roof

the second floor is forest green
in-between escape and peaceful freedom
she was born an observer, a lover of hidden oddities
an explorer of broken wide eyed hope
she could smile at a mosquito and every spider
would willingly starve to death

the third flow is a fireplace in the middle of a bonfire
a wishing well anchored in the atlantic ocean
everything she deserves, harmonious orchestras
of sobriety salvation are stationed in a country
dependent on chemicals
she will never get the shooting star she deserves
because she’s been soaring through our galaxy for lightyears
a blazing comet amongst dull asteroids
Timothy Zero Jul 2014
Activate prior knowledge,
like a tumor that resembles
a painting of Churchill,
circumlocution
more like an echolocution…
or is it echolocation,
perhaps electrocution?

The sigils of universal coincidences
have finally revealed themselves.
They’re aligning for you
right this very second.

A hair from your head
laying in the bathtub
that reminds
you of a letter
from a long forgotten
language.

A random pattern of a scratch
on your arm from a outstretched
coat hanger in a department store.

An odd configuration of blood
on your arm after you dispense
a pesky mosquito.

A rorschached blob of a condiment
on your favorite shirt.

It’s out there trying to tell
you something very important.

There.

In those things lies the truth.
As much as you don’t want to
believe in it…
As much as you want to
deny it.

It will not live
up to your
memory of it later
on.
Too much Grant Morrison is never a bad thing!
michael gagain Sep 2014
i

The inner sanctum of my mind
is sick and twisted locked in time
thoughts run ramped, congealed and sour
I'm lost among you...

ii

A darkened realm of oblivion
a door to nowhere, to many keys
wrong choices, chaotic voices
a dead man strolling a black rose garden...

iii

You live your life, the wife, the cash
I live in fear of death, drowning, electrocution
a cutters way from rafters sway
you can find it, any given day...

iv

The pain, the sadness
the empty shell
life is sometimes a living hell
a little deeper and blood will flow...

v

Come what may on dismal ears
live your granted time, full of fears
staggering through with thoughts of mayhem
hold yourself in contempt...

vi

Why harm myself, I find that strange
inflict on others my hate and rage
I wont cut you, not at all
I'll drive it deep to the hilt...

vii

Walk among the fearful masses
a killer born every minute
I pulled the number
lucky me...
I just wrote a Constitution
Amendment One says no pollution
Three and Four ban prostitution
The penalty's electrocution
The people cry for retribution
I can't think of a solution

Scre.w those anti-federalists
I hope they develop monster cysts
And writhe and scream and slash their wrists
I'll pound their face in with my fists
They'll be sorry they made me pis.sed

These stupid states won't ratify
This document; I don't know why
I bite my lip and want to cry
I don't know why I even try
I'll mash them into pretty pie
I hope they die and die and die

So sign this pretty pretty please
I'll kiss your feet and shine your knees
But only if each state agrees
To sign this hodgepodge of decrees
Excuse me now, I have to sneeze
Viola Densden Nov 2016
Was it not I
Who tried to die
Nine
Lives
Three are spent
And here I lie
My third grave.
I fell slave to love
To behave
Elocution by electrocution-
See my eyes
Touch my hair
I may breathe men for air
But mine eyes
Have seen the light
To the unenvyable cry
Of my plight
Slight of hand;
What a trick it is to die.
Maggots feast upon my eyes,
I would've rather burnt:
Little jew, little jew
What has Herr Doktor done to you
Chimney stacks
Bellow black;
I do not do
I do not do
The black shoe
I've been living in
For nearly two years of suffering
My ailing mind
Blind to happiness.
deranged:
A form of estranged from reality.
For now I fly
High as a vulture
Hung in the sky,
The Zoroastrian carcass
Beneath my circle;
i cannot die,
Without that vulture
A phoenix become
As bright as the Sun
And I will never die
Cheated of six lives
it is not fair
so yes
i eat men like air.
Sylvia Plath, my idol. My muse. Bastardised.
GraciexJones Jun 2021
I see you standing across the lake of fire,
Your body caved in wire,
Your eyes are the colour of black sapphire,
The excess of your skin begins to peel,
Your teeth are the colour of molten steel,
My heart is squelched in your hand,
You stare at me with hedonism,

Your long tongue runs along my heart,
You quench for the thirst of my self-worth,
Your long nails stretch and twinge my arteries,  
Feels like the blood boiling in my pancreas,
I fall to my knees and let out a harrowing scream,

Blood dripples down from my mouth,
My teeth begin to spill out relentlessly
My soul is inflamed by all your greed,
I force myself to get up and plea for my worth

You rupture into a lowering laugh,
Which punctures and disrupts the earth
A black desert storm erupts and crackles,
The dense grey clouds oozes and bellows,
Heaviness of dust grain fills the atmosphere,
Creating a wheeziness and tightness in my chest,

I try to escape from the feeling of desolation,
A sensation of electrocution shocks my neck down to my spine,
My brain shivers and flips as an electric shock hits again,
An odour of burnt flesh pollutes the atmosphere,
My skin fades into a texture of black charcoal,

Feeling debilitated,
I fold and recoil into myself on the cold desert floor,
A wave of emotional pain creeps over my body,
I chew on my lower lip as my eyes swell up with tears,
My stomach churning and swirling with nausea
I close my eyes as the tears gush down my cheeks,
Lips trembling as I grip my sleeves for comfort,

Moment of silence as I weep into my hands,
I hear a deathly, low and sinister whisper in my ear,
“It’s over now….”
My swollen pallid eyes look up to see,
Their carcass shrivelled legs standing over me,
“Surrender...” they whisper with a devilish smile
electrocution marks
the hall
with flatulence
that table
jars a
rebuttal from
his umbrage
their rounds
o explosives
polarized steps
in building
avenue to
the union
with twist
whether turbulent
lifestyle now
this millennium
Marlboro Country
III Nov 2014
Her words tumbled
Like leaves binded
With silk and dipped
In milk, frosting at the
Lipstick-kissed rim as a train
Passes by, sloshing about
Metal sticks with red
Tipped points aimed to the sky
And moons forged from
Electrocution and
Flat carpet, sleek
And muffled beneath
The soles of tattered
Shoes, beings,
And the quiet drifts of
Snow that had
Nowhere else to whisper.

— The End —