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Best Poems Written by Kyle Carlson

Below are the all-time best Kyle Carlson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Kyle Carlson Poem

A Cigarette Betrayed

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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The Trial of an Innocent Soul

“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

Details | Kyle Carlson Poem

Mascara Tears

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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Dust

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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The Tormentors' Mantra 'Dehumanization'

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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HAIKU HYSTERIA!!!!

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

Details | Kyle Carlson Poem

Bite the Bullet

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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Schizo

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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I Liked You Better from a Distance, with Your Clothes Off

Wildfires in my condemned heart
Spread like infections in the shallow dark of my hopelessly desperate bedroom
Lit firecrackers hanging from the corners of my melancholy sheets 
Like romantic candlesticks with deceptive intentions 
Ready to pull me apart into their flames

She said
She’ll never love me, it always dies at my open door
I’m just a maniac who will never get past the blinds
So I shouldn’t waste my time 
Or my breath 

Lipstick and blush stains on my eyes 
Under my thin skin and all over my heart attack
Bury me beneath my bed 
While perfume drugs me and goes to my head
I’ll be just fine with my dreams of her pretty little figure dropping dead 

Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2013

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The Tragedy of Sara Merriweather

She left a bloody track 
of footprints
up and down 
the hospital hallways
the doctors 
looked the other way
as if she was 
a phantom
a character
playing a harmless role
in their drastic dreams
she screamed
pleaded
“Please
don’t you care?
can’t you see? 
blood is seeping from my feet
can’t you see? 
I’m dying
don’t you care?”
she sat
in the hall
crimson prints
sprawling
in all direction
she shrieked
at the ignorant doctors
as blood formed a lagoon 
around her broken dogs
she wept
and pled
and died
in the warmth 
of her seepage
and in the middle 
of that hallway
she laid
forever
and rotted
her bloody track
remained
faded
altered from deep crimson
to light brown-red
but remained
without any consideration
from the doctors 

Copyright © Kyle Carlson | Year Posted 2012

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