Most Violent Writer on the Planet

I will never turn down. 
Krvava mesecina. 
Hung in oxygen.
Before sin. 
Primordial itch.
"Eat me, bish!" 
The Apple's bagpipes sigh.
Pulse tartan, worm thumb. 
"Bite me, then!"
She lunged. 
Teeth met. 
The Apple giggled.
Abyssal depths.
Lined with a razor's edge. 
Lobotomized.
Passing the 'Hatter Hole'
Rabbit twitched on a spit.
The March Hare.
A taxidermied monstrosity.
Sipped gasoline.
The Dormouse? 
Don't ask unless you want to sleep.
"Have some wreak," 
The Rabbit-Hatter shrieked.
Offering Sally a cup filled with centipedes. 
"It's ever so good for the complexion. 
Turns it inside out, you see!"
Of course, she drank. 
That is why she came. 
What else was there to do 
in a world where the sky was made of screaming faces 
and the ground was a giant, pulsating tongue? 
Her skin unzipped, ripping
Underneath? 
Butterflies. 
Millions. 
Each one, the face of an infant. 
Sally exploded into language.
A torrent of gibberish, profanity.
Poetry_unadulterated madness.
She became the landscape.
The nightmare.
The putain itself.

The fastest way to get where you need to be
Is through a door; many haven't traveled
And those who were, couldn't understand
The ravine was full
Shopping carts and baskets
No items in them

They hate everything about horror
Modern philosophy is to determine how
I kept pendulums moving in outfits
Borrow money 
Borrow a car
Some will borrow who you are

"Can't you feel her kicking
She's going to be a star one day, burning brightest"
'Wrong Way' - and it all rolled the dial tones
Something, probably, never know
So everyone on here is just a thief
Online poetry is for the birdie

Time to write their songs

Lesson one: stop testing poems, your training them
Read the fine print, they are fake anyway
Lesson two: the machine can be stopped
Moral ambiguity, won't replicate a warlord
Lesson three: everything online isn't yours anymore
Terms and agreements, you clicked agree

You are training the machine, legally, no problem
Until you make it one, I have no worries
And I'm here if you want to get loud
I got metal in my mouth

Lastly, you allowed the simulacrum
Manikin poets exist now, you condone plagiarism
Modernland Scribes copy and paste
New lens and your line to line
All my pieces are Nihilartikel
Heed my example
And not my footsteps
Shut down that empathetic system
You realize, I'm one of the LAST 
Transgressive/macabre poet(ess) left
Pay attention to what you're doing, please
Poets are supposedly deep thinkers

Copyright © Bea Marchand | Year Posted 2025

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