Submissions by IzziSkyy
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Varied. Sometimes dark, mysterious, brutal... sometimes angry, lashing out... sometimes loving, warm... a whirl of emotions.
DRUGS POEM
Published
16th Jul 2013 8:07am
16th Jul 2013 8:07am
A Distant Land
I’m numbed like a Civil War soldier
prepared for amputation,
shocked like the mentally ill
facing operation…
I fade away to a distant land
where fear and courage collide
under peppermint skies,
the air leaves a distinct taste
of aged formaldehyde,
marshmallow seas give life to poppy seeds
overseen by fun house mirrors
and their evil eyes inside.
When I come down,
frontal lobe removed,
I’m not the same,
I feel insane, and so sick,
stigmatized, cold shouldered…
Back home, I’ve sunk into depression –
between...
prepared for amputation,
shocked like the mentally ill
facing operation…
I fade away to a distant land
where fear and courage collide
under peppermint skies,
the air leaves a distinct taste
of aged formaldehyde,
marshmallow seas give life to poppy seeds
overseen by fun house mirrors
and their evil eyes inside.
When I come down,
frontal lobe removed,
I’m not the same,
I feel insane, and so sick,
stigmatized, cold shouldered…
Back home, I’ve sunk into depression –
between...
725 reads
9 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
10th Jul 2013 9:32am
10th Jul 2013 9:32am
Passion
Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!”
She screamed. Yeah, I felt it.
I feel like a god and a king
when we’re under the sheets
and I’m in between her legs,
or she’s on my lap and I’m on my back.
All the dirty things that feel so good,
can’t be bad for you and feel so good,
and the way she moans and sings,
it sounds so sweet
when we’re under the sheets.
The way our bodies work like one,
and feel like one – pleasure for two –
when I work my tongue
under the sheets and in between her legs.
Honey, you’re too sweet and get so wet
when...
She screamed. Yeah, I felt it.
I feel like a god and a king
when we’re under the sheets
and I’m in between her legs,
or she’s on my lap and I’m on my back.
All the dirty things that feel so good,
can’t be bad for you and feel so good,
and the way she moans and sings,
it sounds so sweet
when we’re under the sheets.
The way our bodies work like one,
and feel like one – pleasure for two –
when I work my tongue
under the sheets and in between her legs.
Honey, you’re too sweet and get so wet
when...
827 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
7th Jul 2013 7:02am
7th Jul 2013 7:02am
Stagnancy
The heaping mounds of waste lie in a forgotten landfill,
filth piling up all around itself and occasionally caving in,
creating a sort of landslide of shit to a forsaken ground.
Yet the landfill is only second in disgust to a nearby pond.
The pond lies within the piles of filth,
stagnant water attracts the overpopulating mosquitoes
which incessantly suck the blood of the landfill’s beasts.
The pond exudes the thick scent of death,
which lingers in the air and appeals to the deadliest beasts,
feasting on the mutated amphibians in the acidic pond water....
filth piling up all around itself and occasionally caving in,
creating a sort of landslide of shit to a forsaken ground.
Yet the landfill is only second in disgust to a nearby pond.
The pond lies within the piles of filth,
stagnant water attracts the overpopulating mosquitoes
which incessantly suck the blood of the landfill’s beasts.
The pond exudes the thick scent of death,
which lingers in the air and appeals to the deadliest beasts,
feasting on the mutated amphibians in the acidic pond water....
609 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
4th Jun 2013 5:24am
4th Jun 2013 5:24am
Years Without You
I've decayed
away; in a way
the best and worst
decay.
I have paid -
for day after day,
both good and bad -
my dues.
I'm half-gone,
it's been years
without you.
I'm half-muscle,
worn-out sinew.
My eyes, glassed -
peering at the past...
it's been years
without you.
These bones, -
albeit, chipped away at
throughout my life -
they're still alive for you.
These bones, -
metaphysically speaking -
are eaten away
by their aching
to wrap around your body.
It's been years
without you....
away; in a way
the best and worst
decay.
I have paid -
for day after day,
both good and bad -
my dues.
I'm half-gone,
it's been years
without you.
I'm half-muscle,
worn-out sinew.
My eyes, glassed -
peering at the past...
it's been years
without you.
These bones, -
albeit, chipped away at
throughout my life -
they're still alive for you.
These bones, -
metaphysically speaking -
are eaten away
by their aching
to wrap around your body.
It's been years
without you....
702 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Jun 2013 11:58pm
3rd Jun 2013 11:58pm
Mom 'n' Pop
One of those mom 'n' pop stores,
empty;
shut down by another online store.
Who needs brick and mortar,
when you've got pixels and gigabytes?
Its parking lot used
only to store dilapidated autos,
forgotten,
favored for a new hybrid,
or electric car.
Who needs gas,
there's a war!
The windows are busted in,
vacancy leaving no repair man.
Local teens and wanna-be anarchists
have vandalized the walls,
mere obscenities, vulgarity.
Animals have overrun the place,
leaving behind traces of fur,
and trails of...
empty;
shut down by another online store.
Who needs brick and mortar,
when you've got pixels and gigabytes?
Its parking lot used
only to store dilapidated autos,
forgotten,
favored for a new hybrid,
or electric car.
Who needs gas,
there's a war!
The windows are busted in,
vacancy leaving no repair man.
Local teens and wanna-be anarchists
have vandalized the walls,
mere obscenities, vulgarity.
Animals have overrun the place,
leaving behind traces of fur,
and trails of...
671 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
3rd Jun 2013 5:47am
3rd Jun 2013 5:47am
Grandiosity
Delusions of grandiosity?
Alas, the world will not stop
to breathe, when I die.
Why should it?
For what greatness precedes my death?
What has my life entailed?
Some musings, some thoughts,
some vivid fantasies, some wild tragedies.
Yet overall, a life
seeing no great achievement.
Now, a death with a standard eulogy:
he was a kind man, he loved his family
a good husband, a good son.
Alas, the world will not stop
to breathe, when I die.
Why should it?
For what greatness precedes my death?
What has my life entailed?
Some musings, some thoughts,
some vivid fantasies, some wild tragedies.
Yet overall, a life
seeing no great achievement.
Now, a death with a standard eulogy:
he was a kind man, he loved his family
a good husband, a good son.
637 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2013 1:12am
2nd Jun 2013 1:12am
Psuedo-sobriety
You tell me you’re better.
“I’ve set down the pipe,
dropped the needles…”
Your words trail off
as you separate the blinds
with your index and middle fingers,
peering outside, in paranoia.
“Straws are only for drinks now,”
you say with a forced laugh.
I return the awkward laugh
with my own.
“It’s been eight days,”
you lie.
I acknowledge with a
half-smile,
“Good.”
Tomorrow it’s twelve days.
Next Saturday,
eighteen.
Last of the month,
forty-three.
Soon you lose track;
your math is wrong....
“I’ve set down the pipe,
dropped the needles…”
Your words trail off
as you separate the blinds
with your index and middle fingers,
peering outside, in paranoia.
“Straws are only for drinks now,”
you say with a forced laugh.
I return the awkward laugh
with my own.
“It’s been eight days,”
you lie.
I acknowledge with a
half-smile,
“Good.”
Tomorrow it’s twelve days.
Next Saturday,
eighteen.
Last of the month,
forty-three.
Soon you lose track;
your math is wrong....
831 reads
5 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
1st Jun 2013 8:35pm
1st Jun 2013 8:35pm
Primal Urges
Naked in the rain –
a torrential downpour,
to say the least –
which cleanses me.
I grasp a crystalline
shard of glass
in my palm.
It lacerates my leather skin,
purging the blood
from my wiry veins.
I’m reborn,
reconstructing my life
after my self-destruction.
My persona and identity,
rewritten with my blood as ink.
Society wants my blood
for its aesthetic value.
It epitomizes their self-hatred,
lashed out against themselves,
the role of their victim, a surrogate –
just a piece of scum,
a dispensable...
a torrential downpour,
to say the least –
which cleanses me.
I grasp a crystalline
shard of glass
in my palm.
It lacerates my leather skin,
purging the blood
from my wiry veins.
I’m reborn,
reconstructing my life
after my self-destruction.
My persona and identity,
rewritten with my blood as ink.
Society wants my blood
for its aesthetic value.
It epitomizes their self-hatred,
lashed out against themselves,
the role of their victim, a surrogate –
just a piece of scum,
a dispensable...
890 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
1st Jun 2013 5:04am
1st Jun 2013 5:04am
So Sick, Toxic
So sick, toxic:
exhume my corpse –
dug six feet under –
open the casket…
there’s still room for you.
So sick, toxic:
breathe life into me,
see these brittle bones,
held together so daintily
with sinew from rotten muscle.
So sick, toxic:
how does this disease feel?
I’ve rubbed off on you
“six feet won’t save you now,”
my skeleton smiles,
counting down.
So sick, toxic:
awaiting your departure
from the living world
you navigate with grace,
a ballet dancer
with a tear-stained face.
So sick,...
exhume my corpse –
dug six feet under –
open the casket…
there’s still room for you.
So sick, toxic:
breathe life into me,
see these brittle bones,
held together so daintily
with sinew from rotten muscle.
So sick, toxic:
how does this disease feel?
I’ve rubbed off on you
“six feet won’t save you now,”
my skeleton smiles,
counting down.
So sick, toxic:
awaiting your departure
from the living world
you navigate with grace,
a ballet dancer
with a tear-stained face.
So sick,...
907 reads
10 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
1st Jun 2013 3:26am
1st Jun 2013 3:26am
Let's
Let’s pretend this world isn’t real!
Nothing is real!
Let’s be nihilists and
rot away with time
like corpses under
a madman’s floorboards.
Let’s twiddle our thumbs,
complacent in the truth
that we’re powerless in life —
just like everyone else.
Let’s be different and hope for power,
but doesn’t hopeful define insane?
Let’s find a pattern to our thoughts —
individually convoluted,
collectively cancerous.
Let’s close our eyes to the outside world –
temporarily numb,
in utero to true pain —
awaiting rebirth to...
Nothing is real!
Let’s be nihilists and
rot away with time
like corpses under
a madman’s floorboards.
Let’s twiddle our thumbs,
complacent in the truth
that we’re powerless in life —
just like everyone else.
Let’s be different and hope for power,
but doesn’t hopeful define insane?
Let’s find a pattern to our thoughts —
individually convoluted,
collectively cancerous.
Let’s close our eyes to the outside world –
temporarily numb,
in utero to true pain —
awaiting rebirth to...
705 reads
4 Comments
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