a layer the layers peeled back
magnificent savior determinant flack
dead wandering mayors of woebegone fact
lead poisoned flak jackets of laziness slack
undone the interior rotten and bubbling
or struggling dismissed all the water is running
away
so much passion presented pointlessly to play
or to tenderly tortured ramblings along or away
why pray when we sleep in the middle of day
what's so scary? everything; what's so teary? everything
wear symbolic moccasins
with spikes in the tips and shivs in the fins
what's so different what's so blithe-like what's so lifeless what's so driveless
what's so blindness ... murder, silence ... hostel, madness ... safety, lies,
deceit ...
be clean
or hide the stench with listerine
decrepit rotting evergreen
the layers sleep and preen
a bodybag smells putrid green
or rotten stinking useless gangrene
bodies hiding musically
guitar shells cracked acoustics bleed
sunbeams with staggered smiles and cloudbreaks
fought with snowflakes dandruff mindbreaks
one slipped sword slices layers in half
peeled apart like a tamed shrew dead in the bath
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
His phone lit up, recieving the message on Facebook
That man has chosen not to read. He said one line,
And trembled as he speaked. He inhailed the cold air of the morgue,
Drowning in the echo of his loud steps;
He stopped walking and pulled out the marked plastic bag.
Not that he was afraid of corpses: but not this kind of corpses,
Looking unnatural and fake, like cold food from McDonalds,
Like make-up without a face, a carnival mask.
The dead one lied with eyes wide-open, skin smooth,
Not yet rotting but better if he did, to tell the truth.
The man zipped back the bag and whispered the same line:
"How can you be, how can you be online!"
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
If I had been brave
with that corsage and a flame
and a nervous zit face
I would have had that dance
but as I stood
paralyzed at a glance
a question on the tip of my tongue
couldn't claw out it's chance
froze at that moment
with one step left
If I had been cool
with a handful of game
and a recognizable name
I would have had your hand
but as I sat still
watched you walk down the isle
a plea at the tip of my heart
couldn't break through my smile
froze at that moment
with one step left
Suddenly now I'm tough
with arms to shelter your crushed
and broken shattered mush
I could hold you forever
but as I let go
and watch you boarding that train
a prayer on the tip of my brain
couldn't find the words
frozen at that moment
no
not this time
melt you son of a
there's just one step left
Thawed
and oh my god
she comes to steal my breath
One Left Step
Amory McKeever (IcecreamMan80)
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
In her hands she holds a daisy
Its beauty in one's hope for answers
Its petals fall as innocent soldiers
The outcome plucked by anxious fingers
In her hands lie more questions
Will she find peace or turmoil in her heart?
Will she find hope or force deceit?
The eye of the flower will be all that remains
With petals lost for someone else's gain
The eye glares back in the face of mourning
for the petals were lost in vein
A trembling hand drops the eye to rot
Lost to a world discarded, not forgot
With time more flowers and petals will bloom
More answers to fill empty hearts with gloom
A constant cycle of beauty's destruction
All for one's hope and peace
Jokes aside, I just don't care.
Or is it that I care too much?
Days have passed, but will I dare
Enter the cave of that wicked bunch?
These past days were not defeat
Every minute was a treat.
to yearn and never be yourself
social mask a chastity belt
murder enacted by the self
in mirrors see the brink -
so ugly -
drink
desire creeps around -
to worry -
sleep
be numb
to all things
drink,
drink,
drink
to haollowed hearts
and beat
ing parts
to emptiness []
or anyness
to die [is bliss]
to live [is death]
can't face
my face
self wrath
to yearn
and never be yourself
wear social masks with chastity belts
what murder taken by the self!
a belt -
clean pink -
skinny -
drink
a fragile peace -
the worry -
sleep
a chat -
the layers -
disgust -
nair
be numb
to all things
drink,
drink
to emptiness
to haollowed hearts
and beat
ing parts
to die
is bliss
to live
is pulp
can't face
my self
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
He never felt the touch
always just a crutch
and when she got her legs
he was out just like a clutch
in he goes
and another volcano blows
He never heard those words
always just the hurt
and when she finally sobered up
she was gone 'round the world
here he goes again
the eruptions never end
She never thought he'd go
but magma overflows
out his mouth
and down his clothes
She never knew the kiss
always just the fists
and when he had his fill
she was see-through like a mist
in she goes
and another volcano blows
She never made him whole
always just a hole
and when he finally packed his things
empty bags and empty soul
here she goes again
the eruptions never end
He never saw it coming
all that lava running
out her veins
and down her face
We Sacrifice Virgins -Amory McKeever (IcecreamMan80)
A poet sold his soul to a corporate,
Exchanging his prophecies for a paycheck,
But no matter how much he wrote, it
Were never enough to pay his debt back.
So he wrote and wrote, his pen bleeding ink,
'Till his arms grew tired and withered,
Couldn't prevent that from happening,
He became sculptor without a chisel.
Than the corporate came and cut of his hands,
Replacing them with intricate machinery,
Poet fell deeper in debts, unable to make amends,
But now he could write without getting weary.
Word after word and string after string,
Mind's infinite possibilities ended. Every scene -
Described, muse died, imagination left, process of thinking
Became reciting old memories and plagiarising.
Than the corporate came and torn out his brain,
Installing circuits and springs to ensure work continued.
No concept of blandness and fondness and fame,
Endless poems under his hands, tome a minute.
The year was 1913,
The year conveyor arrived on the scene.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Wizards can start putting booster packs inside dog poo and dog owners will still complain.
Live
and all too soon
cells will divide fast
creation cascading beyond
boundaries constructed to preserve
form and function from rupture and tear
fully aware their rate of replication is unsustainable
but the hunger for more and more and more is undeniable
because before it's over, there seems to be enough to go on forever
and the end always comes as an all too sudden surprising shock for everyone involved.
in the aftermath
empty eyes ask
why?
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I make words using things
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
'twas a maiden lustrous woebegone
left town to write a song
and tried
to be famous, dang'rous, everything
oh how her vocal chords did ring!
the voice could sing like dinner bells
attract, redact, create the shell
of beauty made to bring
knowledge of everything
to places where it felt like hell
but everything all sounded well
oh woebegone,
so sad you are
and yet your music echoes stars
the wondrous sound of caroling
so warm,
as though babies were born
it's welcoming them to the world
a voice and face wrapped up in curls
a silly voice, a friendly twirl
the envy of all the little girls
oh woebegone,
why can't you hear?
the music sings so sweetly, dear
the life forever echoes tact,
the dissonance and assonance
turned sibilance and fact
the music sings so sweetly, dear,
if only you'd come back
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
You said you believed in God and to a church I have not been
In a very long time so I am left pondering if I have sinned
In the past day, week or month for I am always your victim
And I would like to break out of this cathedral
Built with the firmest bricks of your belief but I am pinned
As Jesus willingly was to his cross in no shame or chagrin
At the invitation of your altar I find myself kneeling down again
Eager for a Communion, so please hear this confession
I have been too scared to love and too scarred to crave affection
I have been insufferable and now what I hear are your hymns
At your mercy I am vicariously in
Your beck and call, my resolve grows ever so thin
Since I am overcome with your gospel and every last one of your whims
Your prayers in my thoughts, I am a disciple of your grin
For you are becoming my Christ within.
"If a Bible was compressed in one word,
It would certainly be capital DON'T"
It's what cool kids think today!
They prefer another book, the say
Called "Pickup Lines for Dearly Departed",
Language ain't hard, but at heart it
Is genuis. So strap on your tightest jeans,
Your tightest grin and head out
To the closest funeral. Find someone juvenile,
Preferably crying or weeping,
Try to stealthily slip in and whisper
"Our dreams are dead, sister,
So let's bury them together".
In the social headdress, the sex is the feather.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Wizards can start putting booster packs inside dog poo and dog owners will still complain.
Thanks, Dissapointing Sigs!
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
Time cut short
artists wail
a host sheepishly smiles
"Forgive me."
We concede graciously
the host lives another day
Does it help to remember
that in the end
it ends
The answer depends
on the input
you send
And the various ways
the variables play
in your mind
On that final day
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
a layer the layers peeled back
magnificent savior determinant flack
dead wandering mayors of woebegone fact
lead poisoned flak jackets of laziness slack
undone the interior rotten and bubbling
or struggling dismissed all the water is running
away
so much passion presented pointlessly to play
or to tenderly tortured ramblings along or away
why pray when we sleep in the middle of day
what's so scary? everything; what's so teary? everything
wear symbolic moccasins
with spikes in the tips and shivs in the fins
what's so different what's so blithe-like what's so lifeless what's so driveless
what's so blindness ... murder, silence ... hostel, madness ... safety, lies,
deceit ...
be clean
or hide the stench with listerine
decrepit rotting evergreen
the layers sleep and preen
a bodybag smells putrid green
or rotten stinking useless gangrene
bodies hiding musically
guitar shells cracked acoustics bleed
sunbeams with staggered smiles and cloudbreaks
fought with snowflakes dandruff mindbreaks
one slipped sword slices layers in half
peeled apart like a tamed shrew dead in the bath
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
justice
artifice
the trees don't care
the grass doesn't mind
but when you live
among them
there are these crazy ideas
sometimes they hide
between leaf and bark
pluck them if you care
this fruit is ripe
freely given
this nectar is fleeting
this flesh is rotting
this time is changing
these not-roads don't look the same
the pavement is cracking
these shoots are not-fading
this industrial hairline is receding
kill us now
or kill yourselves
we'll be back
you probably won't
does memory live in these hills?
or will these hills live in memory?
where do you live?
His phone lit up, recieving the message on Facebook
That man has chosen not to read. He said one line,
And trembled as he speaked. He inhailed the cold air of the morgue,
Drowning in the echo of his loud steps;
He stopped walking and pulled out the marked plastic bag.
Not that he was afraid of corpses: but not this kind of corpses,
Looking unnatural and fake, like cold food from McDonalds,
Like make-up without a face, a carnival mask.
The dead one lied with eyes wide-open, skin smooth,
Not yet rotting but better if he did, to tell the truth.
The man zipped back the bag and whispered the same line:
"How can you be, how can you be online!"
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
I'll huff and I'll puff
and blow down your preconceived notions
of sun tan oils and coconut lotions
Three little pigs walk into a bar
one plays the fiddle
and the others scream, "Hey diddle diddle"
All the better to see you with my dear
says the car salesman in his pinstripe suit
he's raided this dungeon before
he knows where they keep the loot
And all the king's horses and all the king's men
were terrible pre-med students
so they took up sword and saddle, in their prudence
we breathed twin breaths
of rarefied ****
couches cuddled,
examined it
that exchanged gas
between our lips
what poisoned love?
unmindful *****!
widened gyre
unwinding stitch
it was so perfect
now we're split
so obvious,
this artifice
the car's exhaust
a quiet hiss
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
with that corsage and a flame
and a nervous zit face
I would have had that dance
but as I stood
paralyzed at a glance
a question on the tip of my tongue
couldn't claw out it's chance
froze at that moment
with one step left
If I had been cool
with a handful of game
and a recognizable name
I would have had your hand
but as I sat still
watched you walk down the isle
a plea at the tip of my heart
couldn't break through my smile
froze at that moment
with one step left
Suddenly now I'm tough
with arms to shelter your crushed
and broken shattered mush
I could hold you forever
but as I let go
and watch you boarding that train
a prayer on the tip of my brain
couldn't find the words
frozen at that moment
no
not this time
melt you son of a
there's just one step left
Thawed
and oh my god
she comes to steal my breath
One Left Step
Amory McKeever (IcecreamMan80)
Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
The day as blank as the shots
In the movie on the TV
Your conciousness rots
Places you've never been to
Turn into paper backdrops
Don't look in the window
Age came of tamed beasts
Well at least
She will not be a widow
Nothing hits harder than anything
Unable to drown, you sink
Ship without a crew
(she used to wrap her arms around you)
fingers fill dried out, sunbleached canyons
No river runs through oaken eyes
Familiar comfort
my elbow is bleeding
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
In her hands she holds a daisy
Its beauty in one's hope for answers
Its petals fall as innocent soldiers
The outcome plucked by anxious fingers
In her hands lie more questions
Will she find peace or turmoil in her heart?
Will she find hope or force deceit?
The eye of the flower will be all that remains
With petals lost for someone else's gain
The eye glares back in the face of mourning
for the petals were lost in vein
A trembling hand drops the eye to rot
Lost to a world discarded, not forgot
With time more flowers and petals will bloom
More answers to fill empty hearts with gloom
A constant cycle of beauty's destruction
All for one's hope and peace
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
A noir crime scene
finds me at her deathbed
using flashbulb photography.
Blood wraps around her nude form,
a gown that flows down
pooling on to the floor.
She stumbled in, one night previous;
She weaved me a harrowing tale
of evil men and deeds most devious.
After drying her tears she left my office.
"I will look into it," I said,
it was less than a promise.
Now here she lies upon her bed,
the lady I failed,
the lady in red.
Jokes aside, I just don't care.
Or is it that I care too much?
Days have passed, but will I dare
Enter the cave of that wicked bunch?
These past days were not defeat
Every minute was a treat.
My YouTube Channel
to yearn and never be yourself
social mask a chastity belt
murder enacted by the self
in mirrors see the brink -
so ugly -
drink
desire creeps around -
to worry -
sleep
be numb
to all things
drink,
drink,
drink
to haollowed hearts
and beat
ing parts
to emptiness []
or anyness
to die [is bliss]
to live [is death]
can't face
my face
self wrath
to yearn
and never be yourself
wear social masks with chastity belts
what murder taken by the self!
a belt -
clean pink -
skinny -
drink
a fragile peace -
the worry -
sleep
a chat -
the layers -
disgust -
nair
be numb
to all things
drink,
drink
to emptiness
to haollowed hearts
and beat
ing parts
to die
is bliss
to live
is pulp
can't face
my self
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
always just a crutch
and when she got her legs
he was out just like a clutch
in he goes
and another volcano blows
He never heard those words
always just the hurt
and when she finally sobered up
she was gone 'round the world
here he goes again
the eruptions never end
She never thought he'd go
but magma overflows
out his mouth
and down his clothes
She never knew the kiss
always just the fists
and when he had his fill
she was see-through like a mist
in she goes
and another volcano blows
She never made him whole
always just a hole
and when he finally packed his things
empty bags and empty soul
here she goes again
the eruptions never end
He never saw it coming
all that lava running
out her veins
and down her face
We Sacrifice Virgins -Amory McKeever (IcecreamMan80)
Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Exchanging his prophecies for a paycheck,
But no matter how much he wrote, it
Were never enough to pay his debt back.
So he wrote and wrote, his pen bleeding ink,
'Till his arms grew tired and withered,
Couldn't prevent that from happening,
He became sculptor without a chisel.
Than the corporate came and cut of his hands,
Replacing them with intricate machinery,
Poet fell deeper in debts, unable to make amends,
But now he could write without getting weary.
Word after word and string after string,
Mind's infinite possibilities ended. Every scene -
Described, muse died, imagination left, process of thinking
Became reciting old memories and plagiarising.
Than the corporate came and torn out his brain,
Installing circuits and springs to ensure work continued.
No concept of blandness and fondness and fame,
Endless poems under his hands, tome a minute.
The year was 1913,
The year conveyor arrived on the scene.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
When I grow up, I want to be a spaceman.
I'll travel the galaxy with my best friends
with no dull moments or adventures bland.
When I grow up, I want to be a writer.
I'll pen great works, and excite imaginations;
who cares if the good life is brighter?
I'm growing up to be a lawyer.
Meetings fill my schedule;
my wife entertains guests in our Victorian foyer.
I grew up to be a old man.
My teeth hurt, my back aches;
why does my tapioca taste like sand?
Live
and all too soon
cells will divide fast
creation cascading beyond
boundaries constructed to preserve
form and function from rupture and tear
fully aware their rate of replication is unsustainable
but the hunger for more and more and more is undeniable
because before it's over, there seems to be enough to go on forever
and the end always comes as an all too sudden surprising shock for everyone involved.
in the aftermath
empty eyes ask
why?
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
'twas a maiden lustrous woebegone
left town to write a song
and tried
to be famous, dang'rous, everything
oh how her vocal chords did ring!
the voice could sing like dinner bells
attract, redact, create the shell
of beauty made to bring
knowledge of everything
to places where it felt like hell
but everything all sounded well
oh woebegone,
so sad you are
and yet your music echoes stars
the wondrous sound of caroling
so warm,
as though babies were born
it's welcoming them to the world
a voice and face wrapped up in curls
a silly voice, a friendly twirl
the envy of all the little girls
oh woebegone,
why can't you hear?
the music sings so sweetly, dear
the life forever echoes tact,
the dissonance and assonance
turned sibilance and fact
the music sings so sweetly, dear,
if only you'd come back
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
You said you believed in God and to a church I have not been
In a very long time so I am left pondering if I have sinned
In the past day, week or month for I am always your victim
And I would like to break out of this cathedral
Built with the firmest bricks of your belief but I am pinned
As Jesus willingly was to his cross in no shame or chagrin
At the invitation of your altar I find myself kneeling down again
Eager for a Communion, so please hear this confession
I have been too scared to love and too scarred to crave affection
I have been insufferable and now what I hear are your hymns
At your mercy I am vicariously in
Your beck and call, my resolve grows ever so thin
Since I am overcome with your gospel and every last one of your whims
Your prayers in my thoughts, I am a disciple of your grin
For you are becoming my Christ within.
It would certainly be capital DON'T"
It's what cool kids think today!
They prefer another book, the say
Called "Pickup Lines for Dearly Departed",
Language ain't hard, but at heart it
Is genuis. So strap on your tightest jeans,
Your tightest grin and head out
To the closest funeral. Find someone juvenile,
Preferably crying or weeping,
Try to stealthily slip in and whisper
"Our dreams are dead, sister,
So let's bury them together".
In the social headdress, the sex is the feather.