Challenge 81 - Flatline

[6945]

flatline v.
- to die from the flat line displayed on a heart monitor when the heart stopped functioning

NOTE: this post is subtledaggers meddling. I personally would never envade someone else's space in such a manner

[Disco Dragon]

Beneath the bandage
Blues blend with black
A deepened purple punctuates the knuckles in my back
A pure hallucination
Of an unclear haven
I told myself not to believe
What it is my wits perceive
I look to the container to distract

“You’ll never make an imprint in this life!”

My abusive messiah proclaimed me his burden
I have been given a judgment by default
He handed me a swing of his fist
And I took a swig of his bottle

The verdict for my abuse
I was denied to beg my plea
Everyone has an excuse
But I don’t need one to bleed

“Why do you want to breathe so badly?”

A haphazard photo book
Lain muddled in a child’s messy mind
So hazardous to my contentment
So happy we once were

“Shut your goddamn mouth!”

Apparently profanity is coupled with insanity
He has belief in his creed but has none left for me
I am his foul angel with no use for my wings
Hemorrhaging is leading me to believe that I am guaranteed
To be a nominee for the battering which I surely cannot impede
So please father, if you must, proceed…

“He’s flatlining!”

…But if it matters, I’ve decided
To re-gift what you’ve provided
I’ve taken this time to say adieu
And bestow this parting gift upon you

“Look dad, my first imprint…”

[A_Perfect_Sonnet]

saving a spot for the song i might write

[d0ped0g]

This is a sequal to a song i wrote about drugs called bilateral butterfly, a song which i entered into a seperate challenge earlier.

-----------------
THE CONDEMNED
-----------------

This lake of blood overflows and consumes me whole
Renders me unable to drown and enjoy sanity's safehouse
Enduring the resonance of brimstone on my decrepit lapel
Staring at the eclipse reflecting off this unseaworthy canal

I lay within this mirage, marooned, waiting the sun to show
Show up, to finish the dementing decay of my blistered corpse
Once beside me the spent shadow of a selfless midwife
Ready to set free my spawning from this tormented life.

An unconsenting passenger on The River Styx
Suckered by the nowhere of this burnt-out fix
Entangled between steel webs of falsehood and absence of day.
As I wait for this bilateral butterfly to fly down and take me away

A fevered flatliner cursed with the pain of a pulse
Unable to emancipate the condemned spirit inside
Looking upon the fabled face of forlonged eternity
With a pitchfork in one hand, the other clenching a deity

Dare we speak of such horror, for who shall pay the toll?
While the hopeless march, the fickle wait for parole.
Have we all become mute, or run out of breath?
Revealing the truth to ourselves is but life’s biggest test.

An unconsenting passenger on The River Styx
Suckered by the nowhere of this burntout fix
Entangled between steel webs of falsehood and absense of day.
As I wait for this bilateral butterfly to fly down and take me away

...But when it comes, cunningly smiles and flies away
Fades away, in the dust of majestic smokestacks.

Is it merely a conspiricy to send our ballroom bond astray?

[jurialmunkey]

- Ataraxia, I wish it was.

She verges on pinnacle point;
Broken, and all I can think about is
Old vampire postulations.

Self-important palpitations.
No, I'm here for her refined lips
tremble, shrieking cacophony.

A pupate red liquid gravity black well.
Cut the tails off the dogs; don't look pretty.
A perfect fairytale contorts aesthetics.
Brings us down upon our knees now.

So soften sharp hearts,
When will they stop beating
Violet violence parts
And we can stop feeding
From a past respite-silence
with our love
From a past despite violence
with-out love

She verges on pinnacle point;
Salt stings against old lacerations,
Fluttering teardrop euphony.

Flatline swing set static breaks-up.
Shadows dance in-verse with our virus
Ataraxia, I wish it was.

This is a hopeless pop love-song record.
Crushes all the kittens; into boxes.
A perfect fairytale contorts aesthetics.
Only dead fish swim with the current.

...

[ATC]

STILL LIFE

i saw myself in a crystal swan
smiling, with the light you stole
for me
then you wrapped me in my youth
and locked me in your sunlit
arms
but you walked me into thursday
another thursday with sunday left home

so i turned off these exit lights
jumped off these violent heights
cos i found what i'm looking for
and it just wasnt me anymore
not me, not me
anymore

i heard myself in the autumn pipes
shimmer, with a flatline leash you strung
me from
please don't wrap me in my little case
and take me home to mother
dear
but you walked me into friday
another friday with sunday left home

so i turned off these exit lights
jumped off these violent heights
cos i found what i'm looking for
and it just wasnt me anymore
not me, not me
anymore

i'm in this glass house
and i'm throwing this stone
and if you'll find me
i'll have no home
no home, no home
anymore

[DFelon204409]

final flight,
neophyte,
jesus the fifth in the silo
hiding from the firefight
the dogma is blazing
as plagues of locusts
obscure the gazing
of something omnipresent
fake messiah,
the frequent flyer
of an airline for wingless birds
it seems absurd
but, in lieu of peanuts
rations are served
do we deserve this?
we are all an aimless face
in the scope of a sniper
trying to find god
in the pit of the viper,
I swear I saw him
under the mayhem
of the bodies of my comrades
and the radio man
keeps dialing heaven
but reaches the wrong number
of seven eleven
because st. peter
got a shot to the ear
and died at the decline
of a cardiac meter
so it stands the decline of Christianity
was marked by a flatline in the middle east
so in the fertile valley of humanity
lay the corpses of a leader’s vanity

“Why was this bloody world created?”
“As a sewer for the stars.”

if our minds were constellations,
maps for future generations
with the technology for astrology
they would surely apply
our plan for the future
to the wounds of our planet
with disinfectant and sutures
but nobody can surmise
the demise of city founded on granite
and falls to an earthquake
the seismic readout is gaia shaking
like the orgasms we’re faking
as if she was left so unsatisfied
to turn against mankind,
those who have long been gratified
by her fertile valley
and assumed she wouldn’t mind,
oh it’s a terrible thing to waste away
from just outside moon’s orbit
and watch your planet decay
bit by bit

“Why was this bloody world created?”
“As a sewer for the stars.”

intervention
are we the queer?
we can see the fourth dimension
and I don’t see it coming here
all I can make out is a fall
the universe is crying for me
to alleviate you all
of the mandate of heaven
your assumed fake teeth throne
you ask god to be forgiven
but continue to moan
so prepare for the first earth landing
the resident becomes alien
homo sapiens get ready for reprimanding
we are the new evil from afar
from a civilization beyond yours
because while we may mar
the advances of economy and war
we are ridding the universe
of it’s only scar
your planet has water,
so look at your reflection
you’ll notice when the fog clears
a piece of introspection
you are god’s abortion
adam and eve turned ****ed and evil
when we stick you with a pin
will you moan and wriggle?
or will you maintain your grin
and that bullshit vigil?
the only reason to sing in verse
is to order your own hearse
as my seraphs and I come down from above
and let you taste your own curse

[toddcotham]

must...write...song. can't...make it...shitty. on...purpose.

[hypocracy hater]

whoops

flat-line,
deaths call,
shouldn't have hit,
that brick wall.

[6945]

winter stasis

As silence envelopes
Serenity develops
Material thoughts slip away

When darkness encloses
Its very nature imposes
The hushing of things in its way

Feel it begin
Seeping in thru the skin
Like a river molds stones
In its bed
The vitality of youth
flatlines unrecouped with
The inevitable passing away

Greedily gasping the
Air you are grasping
The ache deep inside only grows

Longevity's oasis becomes
winter garden stasis
time takes the flesh down to bone

Feel it begin
Seeping in thru the skin
Like rain wears peaks
Into hills
Youth's natural appealing
flatlines unyielding with
The inevitable passing away

Time to consider…
Lay content
Or be bitter…
The out come’s
The same
either way

[atremore]

Saving spot.

Playing Russian Roulette With A Shotgun

From his elusive dreams he woke
To the nightmare of dawn.
The heartless ticking of the clock
Mirrored in his beating pulse
Gave life undue continuance.

He saw her smile the other day,
Her shallow pupils flowing.
The heartless ticking of the clock
Would lead that smile away from him
In place of cold indifference.

A desperate search for a wavering voice
To break the endless silence
Of flatlines caught in the emptiest halls
And in the coldest of devices.

He wished that smile was only his
And sought by no one else,
But when he left and thought of her
She forgot him and smiled for
What occupied his space.

He supposed she thought of other things
When he wasn't there.
But when he left the plants to rot
And tore their roots from the loving soil
He recalled her lifeless face.

He knew that had he never spoke,
He never would have won.
He bet on all or nothing and
Nothing's odds were two to one.

Surfing The Green On Black

Sitting in a hospital room, I'm feeling pretty scared,
Looking at my darling one with a bandage round his head,
I don't know if he'll survive I don't know if he'll die,
All I know is that I need to hope and not to cry,

As I look onto my man his eyes closed tight in pain,
I surf the waves of his heartbeat as they flicker up and down,
I hope to god he'll stay alive at least to say goodbye,

The green on black of the machine flickers up and down,
My man he breathes so heavily and groans from time to time,
I hope he wakes up soon to see the beauty of the lake,
I lean in close to feel once more his breath upon my neck,

As I look onto my man he seems peaceful and free,
The sea I surf has flatlined now,
Extinguished my man's flame,
And I can't stop thinking of,
The insurance that I'll claim.

[RunAmokRampant]

The Hellenic Lotus

Glowing from the docile saffron sun
It's shower array of colours so vibrant
Entwined within radiance in twilight
Is the glistening morning blossum
With insight to such seemless grace
The Hellenic lotus quenches it's taste
For revealing to strive for
The fountain of sanctuary

Like the essence of a scarlet cup
The harbinger of spring
The candescent sculpture richly clothed
Feeling secure in the soft silk skin

Surrounded by great space
Looking ahead to find the brightest star
It's broad reaching flower spread out so far to see
While searching ways to help preserve
Sending out satellites to search the bleak

Then the leaves soured sombre
To look back upon it's self
To discover a racking girdle about it's stem
It's occupants in it's midst
Are uprooting to condemn
They are the soldiers inside
That continues the affliction
The lotus lays distraught from
Deep set suffocation

Beckons for those who chose to stay
Not before knowing that they
Only remained to equivocate
To present sure tell tale signs of trust
Within flatline sincerety
Parading accross it's quivering venose surface
Left off to leave bitter goodbye kisses

Before the flower shrivelled up to its last bright petal
The reminiscence opened up to uncover
Long lost children who lived in the lotus land
Who cut down the last of the branches
And savoured the endless taste
Of the ancient lotus fruit


--just a side note that by ancient greek legend the lotus was known to bear fruit 'which induced a state of dreamy and contended forgetfulness to those who ate it'
--also lotus land ('to live in a lotus land') means to 'consume unnecessarily large quantities of natural resources without consideration of future needs'

[Sever]

Proserpine

The essence of comfort is interchangable with saftey, just as deuces
and death interchange blood-blistered faces and stonewall facades.
(Prudence is of no value when inside of ketotic uteri:
like obsolete weapons fighting absolustist prophecies,
the moon caught in orbit is of no threat to the body holding it.)
When blood spills on the bricks of an exposé, made frail by Eucharistic dreams,
they share communion with cups of vermillion, overflowing with the crimson of holy sheep.
Pathology holds a cup high in remembrance of a consecrated skinning and bleeding;
(Ares, Zeues and Hermes incestuously birthing a bastard version of Eros,
for whom love and war hold hands and salivate on peaceful rapture.)
a toast to weak will and total ignorance,
consecrated by a Greek flatline doctrine, installed by Romanic die-cast molds.

[super deluxe]

The breath of opportunity
Smells a lot like gasoline
And your tired routine
Is as played out as old '78s

Flatline on the delta
River to the shore
Asphalt complexion
Ground my eyes in sand
To dull their lustre

Hairs in the drain are cursive curses
to your burned out muse
as the swamp weeds menace
perfect calves and ankles
marred only by stretch marks

The waves doesn't care for nicotine sobs
For an atheist's prayer
Or for the truth

Do the right thing, Captain