Posts Tagged ‘bent’

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As bent as a coat-hanger poking out a cone

As twisted as leprosy wrecking vital limbs

As loaded as a road-train barrelling down a deserted highway

As wasted as a wastrel in the universal gutter

As beaten as a homeless person on a cold night

As frozen as welcome as an icy-pole in summer

As hungry as cancer devouring the body

As hurtful as a punch in the face

As piercing as bone through flesh

As miserable as a lonely fat person

As dense as paranoia in sleepless nights

As frigid as fear of dying of fright

As useless as a broken phone

To you

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dthomas

I in my image who never sought scandal
Fried in a vision of celluloid mist
Bearded and beaded and broken like egg-shells
Newspaper lifelines that twist around friends

I in my image of speech bubble sentiment
Mired in the marrow and marred in the bone
Cracked and corrupted like a corpse’s maggot
Craving an instant of vegetable sleep

I in my image of gossip hewn character
Sliced to a stereotypical density
Daily confused by bent backed insanity
Near to a candle-shine movement of light

I in my image so soaking in solace
With cellophane junctures of alien anxiety
Woman soaked consciousness restrained by indifference
Never becoming yet destined to die

I in my image Hawaiian shirt swollen
Bent bud-brain reeling by gleaning the green
Poison attempts to fit into the in crowd
Caustic of consequence that mutters an end

insanity (1)

So deranged and kind of strange
So hard to try to rearrange
Bent and twisted out of place
Always I am off my face
When I’m aching in the wind
The bind that twists the bind that cuts
I’ve never felt quite so alive
Until I saw your midnight smile
Maybe we can wait a while
Now you’re gone from dropping pills
You cut yourself off from all who knew you
Never woke from sleep
And died alone
While I try to rearrange
The vampires that bend my brain
Into some sort of order
Take stock of my paranoia
Call my very indulgent employer
Stare out into infinite space
I will never know my place
Like you in death I am alone
I think I’ll have another cone

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Solitary Man
Dead inside
Aching all over
Fading away for want of a good woman
When will you come, insatiable one?
Woman with eyes of fire and sensuous curves
Woman of wisdom with gorgeous hips and pouting lips
Woman with ripe breasts and marvellous hips
Woman from my deep unconscious, loving and healing with abandon
Woman- a heavenly angel who burns down my personal hell

Solitary man
Bent and rendered kinky by loneliness
In a room with precious cuddly guinea pigs
Unhygienic trash and garbage all over the place
Miscellaneous crap on the floor
Dirty coffee cups and plates
Full ashtrays and empty energy drink cans
Underpants drying on top of the TV

Solitary Man
Trying not to listen to the song of solitude in his heart
Blocking it all out with beers, bongs and fags
Anxious and depressed beyond rational thought
Skirting psychosis in paranoia
Getting weirder and weirder inside his mental psych ward
Longing for love in mastarbatory moonlight
Pacing the room with his balls blue as the sky
Scratching and scraping the bones of reality

Solitary Man
Imploding

eggshell
Bent by time and substances,
Bamboozled by the ache of mediocrity,
I send my poems out to the world
Like desperate letters addressed to lost souls.
Who will reply?
Who will care?
Who can comprehend?
My metal skull reverberates with these thoughts:
Steel echoes and rasping squeals of weasel words,
Amplifying the resonant bong of self-indulgence.
Then I am alone with my musings, whisperings and doubts,
Empty like an egg shell,
Ready to be crushed and thrown in the bin.