Sludges poems on Hello Poetry

Jordan Harris Aug 2014

It isn't sadness;
that is the biggest misconception.
People treat it like an emotion infecting a blue day,
labeling slightly soaked cheeks as this ailment of the mind.
The term is cracked like a whip in stinging insult:
weak, powerless, loser, outcast.

It is feeling a lack of feeling,
where one exists in a mental state of wanting to be anything but lethargic
yet finding nothing worthwhile inside
with which to take action:
no talent, no skill, no interest.

It is not only not believing one has any energy
but seeing nothing to which to give it,
in yourself, in others, in the world.

It is severe despondency and dejection,
consuming worlds like oozing, viscose magma
dribbling uncontrollably as burning ***** from the mountain's fiery mouth
burping filthily as is sludges onward.

It isn't sorrow, or misery, or despair.

It is inadequacy,
an ebb of interest in life,
with a sliver of interest to take it.

#suicide #depression #pain #society #without #torture

the Sandman Jul 2014

(sleep)less

Vile photos and sounds play on 'palace' walls;
mud in her fingernails form shapes of the night's sticky, grubby events-
a twisted, ****** Rorscharch-esque blot.
Knee-deep in grit and grime, soot on her feet,
she sludges on, puking night after night on assorted side-walks
with soaked, soily calves.

'Just pretty pictures' painted on a wall
show her a true reflection of her mind;
she seeks familiarity, hides/searches in them for herself.
In distorted jumbles, she looks for her kind.

The splayed stuff stutter and splutter
and stop and grind.

Insomnia and intoxication,
a victim of lack of inspiration-
life falls into a slow degradation.

Nothingness swallows all once more.
She thrusts against the shoddy shut doors
while the slimy sticky dross glues her shoes to gory floors.

-she trails off with a wince
at the hat man's scoff.

Foul filth fills the squalid air; and
sullied and smoky, sighing, she (s)tumbles
halfway to sleep.

#life #alone #sleep #***** #insomnia #high #slow #loveless #dirt #degradation

PrttyBrd Oct 2014

Unbowdlerized (beware)

Razor-sharp fingernails scrape layers of flesh from eyelids
Splaying them eternally open
Can't unsee what's been seen
Can't unhear the sounds
Or unsmell the odor that rots in nostrils, infecting every rose
There's no stopping when they all stink the same
Can't undo, can't undo
Safety in bile where nightmares are birthed in reality,
In places that fester like the remnants of the lids that blinded
Bleach doesn't clean untruths
Fire doesn't burn hot enough to mask pain
Blisters seem like hope
Hope to heal
Hope to resemble something familiar
Peeling skin back with teeth
Wishing for them to bleed
When scalding tubfulls try to cleanse
the grime that sludges through a broken mind
Attached to a heart mindlessly lashed in the shame of

Love

101414

Kari Dec 2013

Liberation

Liberation
Is speeding down
Back roads
In the dark, windows down
In the pouring rain and
Sticking your hand out so that
Water droplets sting like pins and
Needles when they slam
Against your palm at 80 miles an hour.
Liberation
Is loving someone when it's wrong
And doing it anyway
Because 'god ****** I'm free'
And I'll love who I want even when
I have no right
Even when they're bound, gagged, tied
And held for ransom by a ring on
Their finger.
Liberation
Is getting on a plane to fly
Across the country on a whim
Because there may just be a chance
That that man I met once
Halfway across the world could
Fall in love with me when my feet get off
That plane.
Liberation is cracking open your head
And looking at your skull
And blood is life that sludges
Out of you and you wake up
A few days later realizing that
If you had died it wouldn't
Have made a difference, anyway.
And knowing that next time
You're dying you will
Make **** sure it
Matters.

sharyn Oct 2015

The First

Silver sliver slices through
whites, glides.
Pop.
Yellow blood bleeds,
spills, sludges.
Salt sprinkled on the sparkling slate
meets tongue.
"Good mornings" sung.

*—S.C., March 25, 2015

Michael Sean Maloney Jul 31

beneath the cindering sky

beneath the cindering sky
a storm surge pummels

and plumes
onto broken grey stones

waves
in black rages

rip away the skin
of the day

you are shattered
and dragged further

and further from the strand
on a distance cliff

the lighthouse pitches flicks
and is finally lost

black chemical blood
sludges your veins

slowing your heart
fear feeds loneliness

ocean whole
you are swallowed

and sinking the darker down
breathe in the cold silence

peace
peace
peace

be with you

Emerald Queen Sep 15

Tomorrow's Voltage

Tomorrow creeps,
it crawls,
sludges and stalls—
but tomorrow brings truth,
light,
and dawn.

Tomorrow is discovered,
it is unveiled,
it reveals.
In the reverent halls of worship stalls,
and the back room walls
lined with empty bottles.

Pushing forward
through the thickness of time,
the membrane between autonomy and design—
tomorrow is promise, potential,
freedom in its finest state.
No levy could contain.

But tomorrow is danger,
it is sorrow,
a perpetual loop.

Tomorrow is the silence
after the storm,
the desolate landscapes
of ruin and regolith.

Tomorrow is a tide,
holding it all inside.

Tomorrow is the scratch of pain
on wrists nailed by shame.

Tomorrow is a knife,
serrated with retribution.
Restoring pride
to lonely life.

Tomorrow is the stretched second,
everlasting regard.
It is the open road
for your getaway car.

Tomorrow is absolution,
advent,
attribution.

Inspired by "Tomorrow Creeps" quote from Macbeth by Shakespeare.

— The End —