Submissions by Katatonic
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
A thorn in your side, a bleeding scratch of inadequacy.
S.G.
It was the way you always tasted like pheromones and cinnamon
that made me want to rip the poison from my veins and keep it filled
for the rest of time
with pitted cherries and
sobered blood
It was the way you made me feel beautiful
even if you only ever said it twice
that kept me yearning for the ocean in your eyes and so willing-
to meet my own demise in them
Sometimes I still can’t believe all the chamomile tea we drank
slipping through your teeth like easy lies
and mine, lurching and...
that made me want to rip the poison from my veins and keep it filled
for the rest of time
with pitted cherries and
sobered blood
It was the way you made me feel beautiful
even if you only ever said it twice
that kept me yearning for the ocean in your eyes and so willing-
to meet my own demise in them
Sometimes I still can’t believe all the chamomile tea we drank
slipping through your teeth like easy lies
and mine, lurching and...
567 reads
0 Comments
Call it Shit or Call it Beauty
There lies a dusty feeling
That creeps through the vents
The familiar places
Between the soft curves of your stomach
And bare bones of my hips
Words
are subtle breezes of madness
licking away
at the embers
Of my cigarette
Until nothing is left,
but the butt of my sanity.
And in the morning
the faint traces of voices
Left underneath my bed
Are silent lambs,
that await their slaughter
Love is naught’,
Other than
An itchy patch of ice, frozen in the shade
Rooting in the asphalt...
That creeps through the vents
The familiar places
Between the soft curves of your stomach
And bare bones of my hips
Words
are subtle breezes of madness
licking away
at the embers
Of my cigarette
Until nothing is left,
but the butt of my sanity.
And in the morning
the faint traces of voices
Left underneath my bed
Are silent lambs,
that await their slaughter
Love is naught’,
Other than
An itchy patch of ice, frozen in the shade
Rooting in the asphalt...
587 reads
5 Comments
October 22nd, 2011
Now, you are sitting beside me
silent as a storm cover
while I am busy digging knives in
you are sitting in the bathtub
tears from your eyes,
streaming from the shower head
unrelenting
I decide then,
to trace your spine
fill it in with all I have left
as I reach, Sammi barges in
to tell me she is leaving
“rave.”
my automatronic head nods
feigns disappointment
And thanks my insides it was not her here with you instead
Suddenly;
paper walls crunch
your...
silent as a storm cover
while I am busy digging knives in
you are sitting in the bathtub
tears from your eyes,
streaming from the shower head
unrelenting
I decide then,
to trace your spine
fill it in with all I have left
as I reach, Sammi barges in
to tell me she is leaving
“rave.”
my automatronic head nods
feigns disappointment
And thanks my insides it was not her here with you instead
Suddenly;
paper walls crunch
your...
468 reads
1 Comment
No Great Poems Had Poets
I know
that my time here in ending so.
and I know there is another devil,
to whom my soul I could have sold.
but alas,
I have chosen seclusion
safe here, inside the cold.
I have been too bold-
as the prophecies foretold
I have torn the universe in two
I am methylene blue
now the devil weeps
I grasp the air
Twenty years of sleep
are lost and I am bare.
Mother,
I do not think he will find me here
away from the hellhounds
and from my blind sin
I rise from the blackness
and I begin again
that my time here in ending so.
and I know there is another devil,
to whom my soul I could have sold.
but alas,
I have chosen seclusion
safe here, inside the cold.
I have been too bold-
as the prophecies foretold
I have torn the universe in two
I am methylene blue
now the devil weeps
I grasp the air
Twenty years of sleep
are lost and I am bare.
Mother,
I do not think he will find me here
away from the hellhounds
and from my blind sin
I rise from the blackness
and I begin again
497 reads
1 Comment
Good Heroin
my eyelids are stale
and my pupils have betrayed me
exposed my bare truth
and track marks
while remaining
a closed window for my inner demon
my wee satellite soul
a tightly wound coil
keeps my veins
in upstanding condition
always ready
for the dear mother
to butcher what remains
of my dignity
I am good at it
I am good at
spilling words about it
with the aid
of bright buttons
and spellcheck
I am good at pulling
blood
and
problems
from my rotting insides
but above all,...
and my pupils have betrayed me
exposed my bare truth
and track marks
while remaining
a closed window for my inner demon
my wee satellite soul
a tightly wound coil
keeps my veins
in upstanding condition
always ready
for the dear mother
to butcher what remains
of my dignity
I am good at it
I am good at
spilling words about it
with the aid
of bright buttons
and spellcheck
I am good at pulling
blood
and
problems
from my rotting insides
but above all,...
607 reads
1 Comment
The Chasm of Society
i am sitting; rigid
on the penetrating cock of society
spending money on; cigarettes
alcohol
green salvation
while my peers fuck in the holy school yard
and i watch them from the blinding double devil device
wondering where i went wrong
in
the side-splitting,
hysterical reality
that pushes my soul through a sieve into the abyss
s
s
where
i suppose my mother vacations in lou of chemo therapy...
on the penetrating cock of society
spending money on; cigarettes
alcohol
green salvation
while my peers fuck in the holy school yard
and i watch them from the blinding double devil device
wondering where i went wrong
in
the side-splitting,
hysterical reality
that pushes my soul through a sieve into the abyss
s
s
where
i suppose my mother vacations in lou of chemo therapy...
576 reads
1 Comment
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