Short Mutilation Poems

Creator holy, created unholy?
N’est- ce pas? 
Can never be
Leave mother nature undisturbed
We need her to the core....

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piercing opposition
                                    female mutilation


                                      adorningly so







***...

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I'm gonna draw a picture
A picture with a twist
I'll draw it with a razor blade
I'll draw it on my wrist

As I draw this picture
A fountain will appear
And as that fountain flows
My troubles disappear...

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a rythmatic 
suspicion.
unlikely coming
addiction.
precisely hitting
anticipation.
furry catching
annihilation.
heart bending
mutilation.
mind numbing
gratification.
soul sinning 
climax.
words slipping
relax....

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Credo of nature’s mutilation;
           Height ot man’s desperation:
                            Nature’s blood flows -
                                   Man’s repeated blows:
                                        Niger’s delta crude pollution....

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introspection…
the mirrors’ reflection…

internal conflict and strife…

complications…
self-altercations…

as I look down the edge of this knife…

vast confusion...
intense delusion...

lost... and no place to go...

self-mutilation...
no validation...

nothing above... and nothing below......

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On a broken pedestal
Under estimate our worth
Run away from problems

Wishing for the impossible
Open to resistance, not change
Relish in misery
Self mutilation
Trust no one

Enjoy little of life's pleasures
Not negotiable
Energy exhausted on nonsense
Making mountains out of eroded sand dunes
Yes, you....

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Mass confusion
But little
Conversation

Clear water
And you're
Seeing it too

Mixed signals
But same
Results

Calm storms
Maybe you
Will run

Matter of fact
Was hard to
Add up

Corrections
Won't get us
Very far

Mutilation
Of my words
For ears to hear

Can I
We make this
Work

Maybe baby
Mum's the
Word...

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So the fragment of their brief gloat,
Humbled their cacophony,
Their nails cultivated deeply beneath my skin.
Scratching for hidden gems
As my tears dried pages of a book empty
They each left with a little satisfaction
The depth of mutilation, their cheer halted
The distance that split us mirrored me
The bloody earth braced rejected scars that healed...

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Self-mutilation a crushing despair
Helpless rage, no solace anywhere

Inner directed emotional surge
Urgent outlet, implosive urge

With self-awareness to your own self be true
Project not unto others what's shameful in you



Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemyPOET
into a friend--MLKJr./I Am Anaya
Written 5/28/22...

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An artist am i 
Human flesh my canvas
Blades my brushes
Mesmorising red lacerations my monochromatic palette
Soul demolishing agony my inspiration
Anguished creativity my flesh eating demon

Until painless perfection

Horrific scars my magnificent masterpiece
Annihilating criticism my only praise from this dispassionate world
Initiating the relapse of brutal expression again...

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mother sees child's pretty smile
and posts it for the world to see,
she's thinking fondly all the while
how much that she now looks like me

daughter sees the picture posts
and all she sees are mother's arms, 
her face turns pallid as a ghost
and quickly loses all its charms

all the years of condemnation
have burned into her growing brain,
verbal, mental, mutilation
a heritage of pain...

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My Stockholm syndrome
crosshatch strokes across my rickety easel
lavish lavender blends of oil and spice
dye this powerless infant
catapulted into a cradle –
the dead center
of a clandestine circumference

Each hair on the stencil brush
an acrylic incision
a caressing crimson mutilation
of the narrow slit
leading both bishops and cardinals
to the vineyard of
ripened blood
- the apostolic apex...

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I was looking at you.
Morality needs to be built up, 
People look around for models
Mirror showed me many things
Advertisements of shampoo, fragrance, romanticism...
And then slowly I find morality in mutilation
High thinking, Plain living...
Or high living , plain thinking...
In the cross fire of these two enormity

Still, I am happy, as I felt you are no longer there
At least, something is true....

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I feel nothing as I lye here
Waiting for something  to kill my despair 
I'm burning inside to sick to care
I take a drag of my cigarette
I'm infected with your lies
I'm stupid to believe in you
But I guess that's why your still here
There are reasons for everything they say
People die each day 
I take my blade drag it across my skin
Temptation will always win 
Tonight I will find satisfaction 
In mutilation...

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When this earth is hurt and in pain

Is the earth crying but we call it rain

So when the sun is shining warm up in the sky

Why do we continue to hurt this earth and still
Make it cry.

We take away habits and dig a grate big hole

Don't you realise we are killing earth and taking away
It's soul.

So stop this mutilation and ripping out earth's heart

Stop all the pollution and replant tree's
That's a good way to start....

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In fending off, the questions, 
after mutilation, 
a maverick was asking, 
would you go beyond the species ?

Escape was not an 
abstract. It was a concrete evidence 
against the bleed and hurt. 
Invocation was becoming absolute necessity.

The poetry of death has 
many stanzas. The tribe wants 
it share, but I will write 
about the beauty of dying sun.

Silence was a true poem.
You speak some inaudible words.


Satish Verma...

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What noun was combative, 
enduring the poison, when 
you were subject of? 
the history, which will 
remain unwritten ?

The war was on, in the 
night of terror. You cannot 
reach the extremeties, for the 
sake of modesty. Violence 
sits in speech, in dirty words.

The flesh needs new blood, 
and blood demands the bone 
of justice that will not? 
conceive mutilation. You become 
benevolent in spreading the fear.


Satish Verma...

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I'm a continuous subject of negative thinking.
 Death became my best friend and in his presence is where I longed to be. 
Self mutilation became my better half. 
Every night the blade to my skin as I reached satisfaction once I saw red.
The subject of negative thinking. 
No type of encouragement mattered. 
The negativity becoming my everything. 
My fuel. Suicide being my plan B. 
The subject of negativity constantly searching for positivity....

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The dagger of your words cut across my skin
Like a knife.
Swift as an eagle
The pain sears through my body…
I lust for it
A cooling sensation engulfs me
Wrapping me in temporary bliss.
The scars afterward or not a hindrance,
Simply decoration.
Tears fall
Slowly I drift down from my cloud
Of wonderful pain.
Now I feel nothing
But numbness
And utterly alone.
Still I hear your voice
That refuses to be shaken…
Pick up the pieces of yourself....

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Follow you down to darkness
Rip apart your soul Your nothing
Just another pretty face
Blood stained dress frayed lace
You ask Am I still beautiful with mascara running down my cheek
So shy and meek
Mutilation false love and pills
Feel this void with cheap thrills
Images of death dance through your mind
Happiness you cant seem to find 
Little girl let me save you
Come with me 
The sun light you'll see
Learn to trust don't give up I believe in you...

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You should know that I've
reinforced the bunker
I built around my heart
until it can withstand a
     direct hit
     ground zero
     head-on collision
from a YOU-bomb.

I've shielded it to withstand
the worst Emotional Mutilation Potential
you can generate
and to protect me from
the flash burns of passion, 
Not to mention that I've lined it with lead
to save me from the fallout
of your so-called love.

So-
hit me with your worst.
My bunker--and I-- are ready....

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An outcast, stripped and beaten
up, the sickle moon
smears the clouds with blood.

I hate to wait for –
the sun to undo this mess,
an ethnic mutilation will bring a chaos.

Nursing the peripheries,
tribes were in pursuit of bayonets;
will not surrender the arms

to mate.Unceasingly they are
digging up an abysmal grave
to throw in the truths in uniform-

in pursuit of feathers, offering
for temple archways, turning
on the future, for past glory !



SATISH VERMA...

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WHY DO THEY SEEK ME

Why do they seek me
These distorted images, only I see
Condemned souls of the fallen one
What is this, has it really begun?
He calls to me, you know
Talks to me in my dreams
Desperate cries for help
But no one hears my screams
Suffocation, mutilation, biting teeth
I have become numb
No passion, no emotion, 
My transformation has begun
Its all so clear to me now
And I know my fate
Trapped in a world 
Full of chaos blood and hate.

Sally Harden-Harris...

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When the cavalcade
in all its bluster
surrenders a gasp
to mutilation,
demands for reason
remind the renegade
that independence in isolation
ensures despair

regardless of economy
or lifting diction
until cornered,
provoking the reactive dongle
to flair each lizard eye
of survival with fangs
or invisibility

while skittering
like scandal onward
to twist the
imagination of
every blistered soul

before finally
branding the fringe
of consciousness
in harmonic accord....

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