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Kyle Carlson Poem
I’m living in anticipation
With other cigarettes who are also growing impatient
We’re waiting
Praying
To be the next chosen one
Now, the door opens and we’re soaked by the light of the sun
Screams of “PICK ME!, PICK ME!”
She plucks me from the bunch; I’ve never felt so free
Straight from the prison she sticks my butt in her mouth, which is odd
Now, she puts a flame in my face and sets me on fire, OH MY GOD!
But hold the phone, this feels great
I wish I could tell the fellas back in the pack their fate
She takes me out of her mouth and holds me with two fingers
She blows my smoke in the air where, for a couple seconds, it lingers
She taps my back, a feeling so good it might be a sin
Some embers of mine fall to the ground and disappear with the wind
After 5 minutes of pure bliss
She once again pulls my butt off her lips
Smoke, as usual, flows into the daylight
I’m waiting for the taps and for the embers to take flight
But instead, she suddenly flicks me away without a sound
I fly through the air, drop, and crash on the ground
No big deal, It was certainly an accident
At least I’m still lit
Then as I look up I see the sole of her shoe driving down
All I can do is stare and frown
She crushes me on the asphalt
Then smears me around; sprinkling the wound with salt
I disintegrate to ash
How could she just treat me like trash?
I thought that feeling would last forever
But I guess you decided, for no evident reason, it was time to sever
I’ve been betrayed
Alone I wither and decay.
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2011
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Kyle Carlson Poem
“SHAME ON YOU
HERETIC
THIS BLASPHEMY YOU CONSPIRE
MAKES ME SICK
YOU PLAY WITH THE DEVIL
AND DO NOT TELL ME YOU DO NO SUCH THING
YOU SUMMON DEMONIC SPIRITS FROM THE BOWELS OF HELL
YOU SIN WHEN YOU DANCE TO THE WICKED SONGS YOU SING
WHAT SPELLS DO YOU BREW?
WHAT CURSES HAVE YOU CAST UPON THIS TOWN?
FORFEIT THE LIES
OR YOU ARE SOON TO BE BURIED IN THE GROUND…”
“YOU HAVE PARTAKEN IN WITCHCRAFT
WE ALL KNOW THIS TO BE TRUE
YOU HAVE DEFACED THE CHURCH WITH YOUR HERESY
AND WE HAVE HAD QUITE ENOUGH OF YOU
YOUR SACRILEGE WILL PULL THE WRATH OF GOD PERFECTLY ATOP YOUR HEAD
BUT YOU SENSE NO FEELING SINCE YOUR SOUL IS BLACKENED AND DEAD
NOW SHALL SHE BE BURNED AT THE STAKE
OR HUNG BY A THREAD?. …”
“YOU’VE HEARD WHAT THE COUNCIL HAS SAID,
GENTLEMEN LEAD HER TO THE GALLOWS
WHERE SHE SHALL MEET HER END…”
“FELLOW CITIZENS OF SALEM
WELCOME TO THE HANGING OF THIS PROFANE CREATURE
WE SHALL BEGIN THIS CEREMONY
WITH A FEW WORDS FROM OUR PREACHER,
(“GOD WILL BRING THE HAMMER DOWN ON THIS HERE WITCH
THEN WE CAN PUT HER WHERE SHE BELONGS… IN THIS SIX FOOT DITCH”)
THANK YOU SO MUCH FATHER
NOW, PEOPLE HALT YOUR CHEERS
I THINK OUR DEVIL LOVER
IS EXPRESSING HER FEARS
LET’S SEE IF WE CANNOT DRY HER ‘INNOCENT’ TEARS…”
“WITH THIS NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK
HAVE YOU CHANGED YOUR MIND?
CONFESS TO ME YOUR HERESY, YOUR WITCHCRAFT
AND YOU WILL BE RELEASED FROM YOUR BIND
NOTHING? …”
“I PITY YOUR SOUL
LET THE WITCH BE HANGED!”
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2011
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Kyle Carlson Poem
I know how to make your makeup run
Make you bleed like light bleeds from the sun
Cause the mascara you wear to smear down your beloved face
Tell me, how do tears stained black taste
I know how to rip you scars internally
Force you to the brink of pain for all of eternity
Have you scream until your voice reluctantly burns out
And eat at your soul as you annoyingly Pout
Girl, I know how to make you squirm
Make you wiggle miserably like a hook punctured worm
You're the one who made this insanity be
Who caused this madness to run wild inside of me...
I know how to raze your pitiful life
Read your lies and cut through them like a knife
Break your bones with painful words
Sticks and stones are just so absurd
Darling, I know how to make you cry
Make you beg to me not to let you die
Cause what goes around to come back around
Run your papier-mache heart into the ground
I know how to torture every spot in your nervous system
Take the atoms of your mind and soul and twist 'em
Stick your pretty little face under the barrel of a gun
I know how to make your makeup run
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2010
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Kyle Carlson Poem
My pen bleeds
through ink veins
My pen tells
truth that stains
My pen kills
hopes and dreams
My pen swims
in malign streams
My pen ignites
flames at night
My pen explodes
like lethal dynamite
My pen swallows
anti-depressant pills
My pen displays
my poetic skills
My pen lives,
faint hearts cry
My pen dies,
so do I
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2010
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Kyle Carlson Poem
Particles of minds
Souls
Hearts
Lives
Descend like soft rain upon my windowsill and ignite in the rays of the sun
Layer after layer stack the flakes of dead skin
Dead air
Dead worlds
Death’s shavings
Dust
Dancing through the atmosphere and crawling in my breath.
Reposing at the pit of my lungs
Ruins of history within me
Within you
Earth’s fallen flesh will forever remain amassed upon the windowsill
At the pane of glass looking out onto the future
And our generation will live on in the dust
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2012
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Kyle Carlson Poem
The bullet is on the tip of my tongue
Your heart is underneath the barrel of the gun
I’ll blow your HEART to pieces
With this:
A lethal word; a deathly weapon
I’ll watch you bleed to nothing
Shrivel, shiver with this:
An assassinating label; DEHUMANIZATION
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2012
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Kyle Carlson Poem
Under the night's black
my dream cloud is a sanctum
where she always hides
You construct my scorn
bleed my anger, grit my teeth
you are dead to me
Blackened manifest
whispers seep from unseen souls
demons not angels
Echoes in the dawn
shadows among the sunrise
the monsters appear
Armageddon's strike
sky crumbles, smithereens die
twenty twelve? No. NOW
Look away from dark
it penetrates heart and soul
raven's eye means death
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2010
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Kyle Carlson Poem
Sequel to "Fire Dancers"
A ghost at the window of my brain
Working me in the realm of wrong
I wish I could cry out for someone’s mercy
But Satan’s dancer only sings Satan’s song
I bathe in the fire and purify in the mud
I’m destined for Heaven but Hell is where I belong
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2012
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Kyle Carlson Poem
You tell me I gotta bite the bullet.
Then you turn around and chant “Pull it! Pull it!”
Because you’re not the one diseased.
Teased.
Seized.
So you don’t really care if the trigger gets squeezed.
You sit in your chair studying my thoughts, my every word.
Notepad in hand, scribbling your diagnosis, which happens to be absurd.
Because you have no medicine to cure my pain.
Maybe I’ve just snapped and gone insane...
How ‘bout that one DOC!
Shhhh. Listen. “tick-tock” says the clock…
Enough with the therapy session.
An hour of your lies isn’t gonna erase my depression.
So quit feeding me doses of anti-depressants.
I don’t need a placebo, I need to hear a sensible sentence.
Some words that alleviate my fear.
Dry every last tear.
But you people just prick me with a needle that picks and picks.
Until I’ve endured a broken mind impossible to fix.
Doctor, you can’t draw a smile across my face.
You’ve never lived in this dark of a place
You don't understand.
It’s already been shot down my gullet.
So how am I supposed to bite the bullet?
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2011
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Kyle Carlson Poem
I've got a voice
Actually I've got two
They serenade the crevices of my brain
And tell me what to do
In one ear
We've got Mr. Nice
A misleading Name
With this guy, mercy won't suffice
Blood... guts
He lives for the gore
I just wish...no, I pray
That he wouldn't talk to me anymore
In the other ear
I hear Dr. Kill
Pretty Self Explanatory
This guy's mentally ill
His whisper's like that of an angel
His commands are inhumane
I can't live another day
With a mind so insane
For these voices
I've killed
Slurped the blood
That spilled
Danced with the corpses
While they decayed
Punctured my own skin
With a razor sharp blade
Stop talking to me!
I don't want to hear what you have to say
Never mind, I think I like it
Goddamn it! why am I this way
I beg for that third voice
But it hides
Cowers behind the shadows
Of the other guys
Please conscience
Come back to me
Why can't we be friends
Like we used to be
But that's my head
A soulless slaughter mill
A psychotic structure under the reign of
Two voices named Mr. Nice and Dr. Kill
Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2011
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