Epidermal Macabre
Indelicate is he who loathes
The aspect of his fleshy clothes, --
The flying fabric stitched on bone,
The vesture of the skeleton,
The garment neither fur nor hair,
The cloak of evil and despair,
The veil long violated by
Caresses of the hand and eye.
Yet such is my unseemliness:
I hate my epidermal dress,
The savage blood's obscenity,
The rags of my anatomy,
And willingly would I dispense
With false accouterments of sense,
To sleep immodestly, a most
Incarnadine and carnal ghost.
poem by Theodore Roethke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Hate....
I hate the way you look at me
I hate the way you care
I hate the way you kiss me
I even hate your hair
I hate things you say
I hate the way you dress
I hate the way you smile
I hate the way you stress
I hate the way you sleep
I hate the way you eat
I hate the way you love me
And the way you treat me like meat! !
poem by April Braley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ghost And Me
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Everybody has washed their hand clean of...
A mistake that never happen.
A birth that was more like a regurgitation.
I didn't mean to do that.
Oh oh but you did.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Now tell me
How hard is it to forgive
When one denies you everyday..?
Oh just disappear.
I wish you weren't here.
Those are the words I continuously hear.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Voices marching to a beat.
Voices marching to an eventual defeat.
Running through a slaughter house just to fix a broken soul.
An what does it expose?
Is the blood real?
A talentless man with no cloths.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
I hate it.
It isn't fair.
But in this world of despair.
Tears will never heal these wounds.
For they're continuously felt each and everyday.
The pain will never go away.
It is here to stay.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
No never again.
A march to the very end.
When I'm hanging from that rope
I want nothing from you.
It is what you gave me.
Suffering silence.
The stillness that is so quiet.
No one is here except...
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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I Hate You.
I hate the way you dress
I hate that you are a mess
I hate your eyes
I hate your lies.
I hate it when you talk
I hate the way you walk
I hate your smile
I hate your style.
I hate your arms
I hate your charms
I hate your face
I hate your place.
I hate your hands
I hate your plans
I hate the way you think
I hate it when you drink.
I hate when you call
I hate it all
I hate it that you are true
I hate you when I’m blue.
I hate you when you sleep
I hate you very deep
I hate the way you kiss
I hate to be like this.
I hate your touch
I hate you much
I hate myself more
I hate that’s you I adore.
I hate, I don’t hate you a bit
I hate, I will have to admit
I don’t hate you, Not even small
I don’t hate you at all.
poem by Patricia Perez
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The Skeleton Dance
The moon is on the graveyard,
The night is cool and still,
The wind blows gently,
Yes it blows where it will,
And the slightest sound,
From a place that's unknown,
Come do the skeleton dance,
And rattle my bones.
Do the skeleton dance
Jingle jangle bones,
Do the skeleton dance
All the way back home,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're all alone,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're done with your bones.
See the eyes of a werewolf,
Staring back at you,
A dozen or two skeletons,
Make up the rest of the crew,
The zombies stumble around,
Looking for their brains,
Ghost float like a mist,
And its about to rain.
Do the skeleton dance
Jingle jangle bones,
Do the skeleton dance
All the way back home,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're all alone,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're done with your bones.
The devil takes off his skin,
And plays the xylophone,
God plays the piano,
On a stool made of bone,
Jesus lights a lantern,
Buddha counts to three,
They all form a circle,
To do the skeleton dance with me.
poem by Blaine McCanless
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Sea Encounter
I caught a massive shark
and kept it beside the raft
half out of the nightmare waters
with its head dangling from the
hook.
It gaped at me and didn’t attack.
It didn’t even flinch, or roar -
It was silent as a shark.
It desired life with its weight
Being big and bigger,
Thrashed and assaulted
by the sea creatures. Where are
the other fish? In the sea
where they dashed and whirled
and slept. This one
has now ended like a ghost.
The other fish do not mind:
It is covered with ruined scales,
Hard and close-packed.
Its gills were consuming
the abhorrent oxygen
- the scaly gills,
exhilarating with blood,
that can damage us somehow -
I wondered of the flesh,
rubbery and not fleshy like other fishes
Of the deep blue sea.
I wondered of the different skeleton,
That dinosaur skeleton,
the colours that were the same,
the same colours that would permeate it.
Eyes were no goodness, but
Evil was their intention.
It lunged -
I don’t know how!
Perhaps the flip would drag me under,
And keep me busy paddling
Enough to sink me down
And devour me.
But I was wise and wary
To survive the whole encounter.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over And Over Tune
You could grow into it,
that sense of living like a dog,
loyal to being on your own in the fur of your skin,
able to exist only for the sake of existing.
Nothing inside your head lasting long enough for you to hold onto,
you watch your own thoughts leap across your own synapses and disappear --
small boats in a wind,
fliers in all that blue,
the swish of an arm backed with feathers,
a dress talking in a corner,
and then poof,
your mind clean as a dog's,
your body big as the world,
important with accident --
blood or a limp, fur and paws.
You swell into survival,
you take up the whole day,
you're all there is,
everything else is
not you, is every passing glint, is
shadows brought to you by wind,
passing into a bird's cheep, replaced by a
rabbit skittering across a yard,
a void you yourself fall into.
You could make this beautiful,
but you don't need to,
living is this fleshy side of the bone,
going on is this medicinal smell of the sun --
no dog ever tires of seeing his life
keep showing up at the back door
even as a rotting bone with a bad smell;
feet tottering, he dreams of it,
wakes and licks no matter what.
poem by Ioanna Carlsen
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Love So Strong
(to C)
Dear, how long this despair?
This despair that seeps into every bone
Every bone it breaks every day.
Every night sleepless eyes stare
Into the void, that you leave me with.
You leave me void with broken bones
And with despair that seeps into every bone
I never knew love was so strong
So strong to break every bone
One day.
poem by Joshua Aube
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Digital Map Of Anatomical Body
moving compositions
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
...
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
contemplated erosions below! ! !
The body detailes concepts!
Savage
Words of power are killing me
While the sun displays its teeth.
All mockery is laughing
All violence is cheap.
She said...
"These are my guns
These are my furs
This is my living room."
"You can play with me there sometimes
If you catch me in the mood."
Savage
Savage
Savage
You savage...
She said...
"I have this unhappiness
To wear around my neck."
"It's a pretty piece of jewellery
To show what I protect."
She said...
"Everything is fiction
All cynic to the bone."
"So don't ask me to stay with you
Don't ask to see me home."
Savage
Savage
Savage
You savage...
song performed by by Eurythmics from Revenge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Please Do Not Hate Me!
Please do not hate me because of the colour of my skin
Please do not hate me because your God I don't believe in
Please do not hate me if I don’t kneel down and pray
Please do not hate me for what elected politicians might say
Please do not hate me if I don’t dress the way you do
Please do not hate me for not sharing your political view
Please do not hate me because of what others have said
Please do not hate me I don’t want to see us both dead
Please do not hate me because of some conflict or war
Please do not hate me, as it’s friendship I’m looking for
Please do not hate me just because you do not understand
Please do not hate me for wanting to shake you by the hand
Please do not hate me we have too many fences to mend
Please do not hate me I only called you to be my best friend
poem by Gordon David
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rags & Old Iron
Norman curtis, oscar brown jr
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
I heard that old rag man now making his rounds
He came right to my alley lord with sorrowful sounds
Crying rags old iron and pulling his cart
Ask him how much hed give me for my broken heart
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
So I asked that old rag man how much he would pay
For a heart that was broken baby when you went away
For a burnt out old love light that no longer beams
And a couple of slightly used second hand dreams
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
For those big empty promises you used to make
For those memories of you that are no longer sweet
I wish he could haul them off down the street
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
When love doesnt last tell me what is it worth
It was once mamas most precious possession on earth
When I asked that old rag man if hed like to buy
He just shook his head and continued to cry
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron rags old iron
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I hate...
I hate the way you act
I hate the way you dress
I hate the way you smell
And you hair looks a mess
I hate the way you tease
I hate the way you beg
I hate the way you talk
And I hate your hairy legs
I hate all you friends
And your family to boot
But i still find myself falling in love with you.
poem by Miesha Devres
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Hate Me
She Hate Me
She Hate Me
She left me to be ruined
She Hate Me
She saw me in full bloom
She Hate Me
She sees I'm more powerful than ever
She Hate Me
She loathes that I'm successful at every venture
She Hate Me
She withers, she screwed it up, it makes her sick
She Hate Me
She goes back to what she knows, getting on that stick
She Hate Me
She hears my name, film, radio and TV
She Hate Me
She is ghastly, blanched, as she wails 'IT COULD HAVE BEEN ME! ! ! '
She Hate Me
She knows he will always be the best she ever had
She Hate Me
She grasps that he treated her like a Queen which is mad
She Hate Me
She is dead without a soul, replete without hope
She Hate Me
She knows he's gone forever, yes she will never cope
Outside Of That I Love You
What makes you think I'm crazy about you?
What makes you think I can't do without you?
I've looked you over carefully
And if I never see you again, it's soon enough for me
I hate the ground you walk upon
I hate the phone you talk upon
I hate 'most ev'rything that you do
I hate that funny little mouth you drink with
That peanut on your shoulders that you think with
I hate the rouge upon your lips
The polish on your finger tips
I hate your eyes of heavenly blue
I hate the way you sigh, honest I do
Outside of that, I love you
[Female version:]
I hate the way you comb your hair
I hate the flashy clothes you wear
I hate the patent shine on your shoe
I hate the closet that you keep your clothes in
I hate the handkerchief you blow your nose in
I hate the smell of your cigar
The way you lean against a bar
I hate the jokes you tell that are blue
I hate that fancy tie, honest I do
Outside of that, I love you
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hem Of His Garment
Oh I wish I could be
Touched by the hem of his garment
To be proud has never been
So mean, so stern, so cruel
Oh I wish I could be
Touched by the hem of his garment
Oh, Ive come a long way
To touch the hem of his garment
And anger should be
The tool of a clown or a fool, you see
And why should such spite and such pain
Hang between you and me
When love should be
A queen on her throne
Looking after her own
I wish I could be
Touched by the hem of his garment
Two chairs at this table
One bed in this house
Seriously, I think we could be,
Touched by the hem of his garment
Oh, Ive come a long way
To touch the hem of his garment
Written by d. armstrong, r. armstrong, sister bliss, dave randall & maxi jazz
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Feeling the rath of Evil
Feeling Evil
Evil on a night like this
Evil tasting like a twisted wish
Evil paralized upon the ground
Evil tates the tears of fear
Evil tainted sounds of cheer
Evil dripping down; your blood of hate
Evil tearing down your helpless fate
Evil swears that by the night's end
Evil won't say it was all pretend
Evil because Death will follow you
Evil until full content
Evil pleasured to full extent
poem by Kelsi Gray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghosts
There are ghosts in the room.
As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there
They come out of the gloom,
And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.
There's the ghost of a Hope
That lighted my days with a fanciful glow.
In her hand is the rope
That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.
But her ghost comes to-night,
With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,
And it stands in the light,
And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.
There's the ghost of a Joy,
A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,
And the hands that destroy
Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.
There's the ghost of a Love,
Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,
But he towers above
All the others... this ghost: yet a ghost at the best.
I am weary, and fain
Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host
Make my struggle in vain,
In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Hate
I hate that you feel the need
To put me through all this
I hate that you place the blame on me
When you did all this yourself
I hate that you call me names
I hate that you feel the need to attack me
I hate the fact that you played me
I hate that you reak of alcohol
I hate that you had to look
When you know you shouldn't have
I hate that you act like your single
When I'm right by your side
I hate that you insult me daily
I hate that I didn't hit you when
You said we mean nothing
Infront of all our friends
I hate that you used me
I feel violated by you & your team
You've hurt me beyond repair
But I might hate myself
For allowing myself to hate
Feeling Evil
Evil on a night like this
Evil tasting like a twisted wish
Evil paralized upon the ground
Evil tates the tears of fear
Evil tainted sounds of cheer
Evil dripping down; your blood of hate
Evil tearing down your helpless fate
Evil swears that by the night's end
Evil won't say it was all pretend
Evil because Death will follow you
Evil until full content
Evil pleasured to full extent
poem by Elena Helms
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Tempestrousseau
The clock is dressed in drag, I mean it wears
space instead of its own proper aspect
but if it wore time, would it disappear
isn't visibility an effect
of transvestism, that shield pastime whose
crosscasual aim unmasks the eye: must you
assume the costume of the other to
be here, to present the sense with an ess. . .
Narcissus saw his guise decked out all ruse,
but if there were none, what would our true clothes
consist of, our rig rags, our regalia—
Whose dapper element dons us: Einstein's
continuum—or Flaubert's condence
that, come the same, the Bovary c'est Moi?
poem by Bill Knott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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