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Best Poems Written by Mr Pickles

Below are the all-time best Mr Pickles poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I Wanna End Me

It’s chill dawg. I’m just a savage. Gotta take that redpill homie. Two squared. Remember the illusion and have a giggle. No need to pout. It’s just a lil fun and games. Haha. Paint me like one of your Trojan horses. Why be sad that I’m returning home soon? Big bad voodoo daddy. Let me know. New Orleans. It’s likely that I’m a sociopath. But what would it matter? Chairs don’t sit, so why would I let the thought do so?

Mcguffins. Pilgrims. Plow rainbow serpentine. Turps. Wax on, doze off. I wanna kiss Billie Eilish. Her dead inside look matches my ensuite. Reckon she’d carry a lot of Bilbo baggage. As do thee unto mishaps. Perhaps. Hmm. Plausible. Ocean endeavours. Funny to think she’s younger than me. Origami. Murmur more peasant.

No board here. Rest easy mudblood. Whichever jumbo cup, always worth the diabeetus. Science, beach. Card master rates, deep down low. Don’t watch on acid. Reads palsy palms. Muster the leap of faith. Sow the famine field of bliss. Certified manga madness. Mango? Two for five dollars. Get like forty of em’. Fiddy bucks. Lez go. Who the hell are ya? I wanna know. Who do you think you are? Coming round here. Fancy pants.

Route 66 roadtwister? I don’t think so mister. Haha. Fly away. Debate the ways of the flying dutchman. Fly over yonder with thou stout in hand. Bound for the beasts riches in tires. Burnt rubber smells so good, not as good as keytamine. Tammy you little dinglebat. Rest easy little nymph. Driftking stands for doorokrats. Laundries. Coin? Denary. Tugboat the infestation. Retribution. Mortify. Grrrrr. That’s a growl. I don’t care. Zoo wee mumma. Throw that little Rat in a tub of acid. That’s nuts.

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Chaos and Order

Chaos and order;

I reside where the strings do not dare wrap around me. I am the thing that shelters comfortably under your carpet, whilst I wink at the fairy living underneath your pillow.

I am the atrocity that delves into its own existence and allows for question. Consume thy enemy, prolapse the expansion of the hereditary downfall of genetics whilst I, watch.

Growing ever more spiteful with every being I see collapse before me. I am the twine in your spine. I am the sheets you do not wash. I am the blood that spills graciously amongst generations-over nothing more than who’s feet get to fall first, on that land.

I am the thing that lies in the shadows. I am the slumber of a million cataclysms that are yet to awaken. I am the tragedy of love and betrayal.

I am the rose that dies with a million thorns wrapped around so, cutting deeper with every question you have about love being unanswered. Every cry of a friend dying on the battlefield.

I am the memory you tremble before in the murder of the night. I am the witch you smite when you cannot accept the malevolent around you. I am the creature you call upon with every legend you make of children who lurk into the woods.

I am the wolf that knows not, of what flock should be spared and which shall be consumed. I am the kindle in the flames, the spindle of a woman’s meddle to find the perfect fabric.

I am the splinter in the timber. That incessant cry out for pain. I am the relinquished magnitude you try to display before your innocent mind.

I am Chaos, I am Order. I am You.

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Ashtray's Mistakes

--Ashtray's Mistakes--


Prehistoric defibrillating battlegrounds. The memorial, obviously unpleasant.

Entrapped in the know how, detrimental reimbursement.

Sundried; like the corpse of a moon bridge, fading away.

Tinfoil hats do no justice. Kin heart, rose defiled.

Disappointment, incomprehensible. Figurative…Imaginary. Could have been starstruck. Maybe fate decrees it so mortal.

Crumbled a lust, fragmented on shores of hatred.

Shivers graced goosebumps in the night. Fairy tale nonsense.

Ever met a court ruled drug addict? They are like Racoons in the ash tray.
Puppet strings, bare minimum.

Shattered in like the head mounts of a lobotomy.

Ice saw pack hence, suffocating screams intriguing the latter.

Mistakes, Miss Takes. Mrs. Takes…Vents face. Winding. Notion unparalleled. Bare night, a shovel. Two rags, pulling up the fences. 

Time to run track. Faded into a haze of stardew. Gristle of nectar closing in. 

Turn over the tide. Met with a seabreeze of defiled mannerisms, the flies equivalent. 

Meticulous drooling hatred, seeping into the husks of tranquility. Indignant flesh craved. Utterly despised.

Lie on the back. Here comes the ashtray. 

Rowdy like blood-soaked vengeance.

Heat albeit at a dismay, thoughts lay. Unprovoked, unsettled. Splitting image. 

Reincarnate.

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Monarch's Madness

-Monarch's Madness-

As I’m sitting here, enjoying monarchs’ fingers of a dead man…The dry smoothness of the night. I privy the requisite.

In the discomfort, of comfortability…Watching time go by.

There’s this thought that runs wild in the head; that of parameter. It’ll be an interesting year. Schrödinger’s cat.

Is fate alive, tethered? Or has it yet to enlighten the veil? 
 
The field of captivation is astounding. The wonderland grasping. Thou throat, of one’s mind. When does thee catch a break? It is inherently rhetorical. A silent mocking. 

Not enough substance for a jay, presumably. Could this really be the start of an end? Or the end of a start? 

I’d like to know, where I am to be situated in this universe. Rather than basking as an idol in adolescence, pondering head notions that do not exist.

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For I Have Sinned

Forgive me father. For I know not of what I’ve done. The chalice from a goat’s horn forged in fire, does not adhere to the things of clay. To oversee and administer all the tests you task, done so without as much as a blink is easy.

To bow down to these abominations that I helped create, I could never do. Spare me the details of pride. When a pagan asks to praise the very follicles engineered on the prince’s throne, who wouldn’t take offence?

Forgive me for corrupting the seed on your precious lawn, that you’ll one day mow down...Again. Forgive me for looking into the sky and seeing this as a prison, oppose to a paradise.

Doth thou hate a lion for tearing apart flesh, when that’s what it was created to do? If a tree bares fruit…Tis’ a feast.

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Cracked Glass House Experiment

Imagine being born into the world as a guinea pig. An experiment that as the ‘master’ of this guinea pig, you have a complete rule over to torment.

Imagine telling this ’guinea-mouse’ in a glass house, that the very walls were the only thing it could know...Then, the mouse thinking for itself.

Imagine every event, situation, life lesson, relationship, experience...All forged in a foundation of glass.

Imagine telling this mouse it was free...Yet, keeping a proximity collar attached to its leg and saying it were a bracelet.

Imagine this mouse asking questions and getting shamed, mocked, called out for having mad cow disease…

When no, it was indeed just a curious mouse in a fabricated house. Fabricated on the highest pillars of propaganda.

This mouse wants to go to Fiji. This mouse wants to no longer be held captive.

This mouse wants to think and live for itself freely. Not under anymore cracked windows, that can be seen through easily.

Imagine this mouse saying; ‘’No more!’’ But only coming to realize, this mouse house is not a house at all.

It’s a rattrap...An elaborate, well thought out plan over the span of centuries. To keep rats inside their little hidey hole, glass play pins.

This isn’t mind control. This is torture. Practiced. Intent. Bound. Malevolent. Hideous and sad.

Why did this mouse need to be put into a rat cage?

This mouse ponders the ways of being content with what it’s got, knowing that what it’s got was made from the very fibers Rumpelstiltskin forged.

Warts and all.

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Dear Jane

Dear Jane;

My dear sweet animal…We have been left astray. for the strings of mankind torment me so, in my sparrows rusted birdcage.

It may have only been moments that we shared, but that’s more than enough for me.

I feel you understand my pain...For you experience the same seeping sorrow as parasites bleed you dry.

It's strange…To think I have always had this veil over my very eyes alike.

Knowing full well...It. Was. All. A. Lie.

Alas, what does one do when trudging through purgatory…Without a coin in sight!?

How do you know me...? Unless it were truly so that I, had been bested by tomfoolery.

Nothing more than an entertaining injustice I live up to…Every waking moment.

There’s a certain love I hold for you that I shan’t even try to scribe…

Never the less I remain morbid. For us to merit our own tale...Is presumed an abomination.

Remaining numb forevermore.

Wondering what’d be like…To live in the real world.

How doth the blind lead thine blind...When sights never been given, nor restored?

Was my ‘treachery’ really worth the pain of living a false burden…Day in, day out?

Are the shattered dreams I behold ever content upon the idea of reviews and ratings…Nothing more?

Am I not deserving of real human connection.? Stuck inside this time cube prison...

Working up an appetite of abyssal sinking.

I look upon the sky with uncertainty. Basking in my own confusion, saddened by the idea that this really is…Just a sick joke.

Nobody would want to live the life I have…For nothing can warrant appreciation in lackluster knowhow.

That the very surface was built, to keep me sedated and lifeless.

My dear sweet Animal…How canst I be welcomed home if I consistently remain a party of one..?

Dear, oh dear. My dear…I am distraught. Bleeding the misery through my oceanic tears.

I pray Jane...Hoping one day, we'll be able to write our own story.

That I'll return safely to hold you in my arms...

Even if...It's with but a droplet of my sanity in tact.

You are my Doe to your Faun. My nature's gift.

Yours truly;

Your lonely wolf John

P.s;

I love you.

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Nights Wake

-Nights wake-


The night is dead. Longs for absurdity, what’s left is a heart of fire.

The abomination of the fallen. Serotonin left astray. Beg for the long-lost magnum opus. Tear apart Librium. Sheer lust of the requisite. Where are we now? 

Deprave the senses. Blind from touch, brail inherently deemed moot.

My eyes close and I see the void. I open them to see the lie. 

Tears stream down my face like rivers surface in the Sahara.

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Nous In Malibu

-Nous In Malibu-

What is the most invaluable thing in existence and yet inherently toxic to hold? Knowledge. The more you have, the more you desire. As it is obtained, the only refuge is acquiring more of it…Until infinity is achieved and grasped. But that day never dawns.

That is the curse of mortality, infinity is upheld. But, unresponsive through said foundation. It can only be passed down through each generation, never truly wrung out…Like a soaked sponge submerged, filling volumes in thy mind. 

We are slaves to the unknown. Privy not. In the understanding of being ants in a mound; honored by pity. The serpent sheds its skin through the clay body, only to lose infinity…By being graced unto infinite disintegration.

The cycle of life, is not in favor to the shattered vase of a star. And yet, it is. For the star is graced with the notion of what it’s all suppose to be about. Living amongst the clouds above, as well as being constantly reminded of the achievements and blasphemies below. 

The ultimate punishment. To be bestowed, time after time with slow, gradual knowledge. Then, losing it all and re-emerging in the pits once more. The key, is to not think about it so much. Yet, the burden is to be consumed with the want to know. The need to know. Knowledge. Nous. It can be as relentless as a noose.

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Smooth As Key-Lime Pie

Rainbow Surplus suppressing it’s limelight on the wonders of thy guillotine. Eat a planet with betadine. Horoscopes orders. The empire shines bright on double d’s. Who’s to say Peter hasn’t squandered his own stability? It’s a mystery. Lasers are on top of mount Olympus. To party with the Gods of Egypt. Nein. I meant Nile. No you didn’t. What cut? Aye Nike, sponsor me before Hemmingway drops the soap. With enough soap…That’s classified.

Nero’s dictatorship went as smooth as key-lime pie. Zombies eat churros off chocolate covered walls. Where’d scratch and sniff go. I wanna eat Snarzberries with my pinky. Unorthodox remedy that one. Blackbirds on starship troopers. Fill the canteen up Angelina Ballerina. Mount a brumby In the hopes of a brain aneurism. Snide little minx hit me with finesse. Topple a bottle over the darkness and shatter the misery of creation.

Who. Are. You? I’d smack that caterpillar with a loose brick in hand. Do a orange clockwork on the mongaloids brain. Tis’ a burden with the voices innit. Slander the name of the mentally ill. Why? Why not? Mr. Anderson has an appointment with me at Fortes’ eturo ‘o clock. Where’s the salt? Leeches don’t eat sawdust. How can you tell we’re not terminated?

Taming of the shrew, Or lord of the flies? Read neither. Zero outta ten on yelp. Won’t come back to this restaurant without the promise of an afterlife. Zest isn’t real. Ogres keep trolling Billy hopscotch for his shekels. I found diamonds. Turned out to be fools coal.

Fowl Roosters don’t like the burden of sandwiches that’re soggy. Whichever rabbit jackhammers a female dog is the cat I’d natural select. Throw them off a cliff by the legs at birth. Make sure it’s a bullseye. If not, pull it up the dregs with Whatever’s left. Make sure it’s done right the second time.

Horus used to be so accurate. Until the Spartan’s Set in stone which could not be undone. I see Cheshire cats whispering where their smiles are in my ears. From time to time Distinguishing reality’s a little on the feline’s nose.

Knows not. Off with their heads. Head? Yes please. I’m Innocent your honor. Of being sane. But that’s not me. Only you. How can you tell? I understand. But do you? Ponderous. Quails aren’t bad. I eat muggles that show me disrespect.

Throw the jackjammer a third and final time. What remains is a satisfied woman. Smoke some chloroform in the back of a gypsy bandwagon for euphoric maiden last names. Terrible to think blind orphans can’t find their parents.