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BloodyMuffins
Chelsea Watt
United States, MA, Newburyport

Words: 2371
Access: Public
Comments: 4

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Dangle By Laces

   


Translucent parades of paradox steal,


Slowly.


Hunting.


Their pray.


 


The mechanical monsters strum all day,


Light.


Dark.


They stop.


 


Teacher teaches over the top,


Ignorance.


Pride.


Passed on.


 


The morning glories tend to rise before dawn,


Sleeping.


Waking.


Non conformity.


 


To open the door you need a key,


Opens.


Terrified.


You flee.


 


Open the cages set the animals free,


Scampering.


Hiding.


Their gone.


 


The road we ride is miles long,


Winding.


Twisting.


Than still.


 


Bloody claws poke at the window sill,


Bloody.


Markers.


And scratches.


 


The numb children play with matches,


Flicker.


Fire.


Transformed into ashes.


 


Remove your shirt and receive your lashings,


Welting.


Bleeding.


Now screaming.


 


All we think about is leaving,


Door.


Knob.


Is turning.


 


All the one sided faces are burning,


Demons.


Dancing.


Fire roaring.


 


I chugged eggnog in the morning,


Stomach.


Turning.


Acids burning.


 


All the bloody orgasmic delights we've been earning,


Desire.


Hanging.


From piano wire.


 


The freaks are fucking in the fire,


Smell.


Flesh.


Fuck it.


 


The panicking, soggy pieces wont fit,


Two.


Four.


Oxidize.


 


Look into her eyes,


Before.


Cannibalism.


She dies.


 


Let loose the tassels and ties,


Unwrap.


Unravel.


Now undone.


Drinking lazily dripping piss for fun,


Honey.


Funny.


Lungs choking.


 


Into our arms with needles we're poking,


Snorting.


Drinking.


And toking.


 


We don't even know what we've been smoking,


Inhale.


Exhale.


Chest pain.


 


Among the fallen children we're lain,


Sleeping.


Dying.


Its all the same.


 


We went direction insane


Tearing.


Hair.


Meeting there.


 


What should the electricity wear?


Electrodes.


Buzzing.


In her hair.


 


Her back is drunk and her skin is fair,


Dare.


Turning.


To the back.


 


I'm gonna paint the water black,


Runny.


Snivling.


In the posies.


 


The quickening gravities are crushing my tosies,


Toenails.


Cracking.


Lips smacking.


 


In the trash bags your packing,


Memories.


Defiled.


In shame.


 


All it is, a stupid name,


First.


Middle.


And last.


 


The fish are getting sucked in fast,


Squirming.


Squishing.


Bad nutrition.


 


And if you're hearing you can listen,


Wet.


Glasses.



 Breaking glasses.


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Comments  
Sankylady20 Comment by: Sankylady20 - 2007-03-01 22:40
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I agree with everyone, the imagery was so awesome on this poem. I really enjoyed it, i didnt want it to end.
mitra Comment by: mitra - 2006-06-25 06:54
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That was a journey.
Poetica Comment by: Poetica - 2006-05-04 17:49
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"...and if you're hearing you can listen..."
AWESOME imagery...I wanted more LOL...once the flow of it begins you get caught up its like when you go swimming in the ocean all day and you go home when you sit still you can still feel the waves...I loved your poem and the style of it.
jagainst Comment by: jagainst - 2006-04-22 13:31
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Man! This one evokes so many images, yet described in such a minimal and abstract method. Felt like there was total warfer inside my head as I was reading this. Love it!
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