Jez's collection of poems !!

18/X

Entanglement The Ample— thus paltry, Embellishment— Anent thy Pulp

How beaut is the emaciation Through decoration Damnation!— Till, Reliquiae, alas

Suspension, Pressure, Suffocation, Inert, alas—

⁂

Ego— follow its figure As it the Slaughterclerk— Up-close the Fibers, & Amidst its Thews—

Thou cut the Flow, Curb the crud, cure our viands— Have it unblemished!— Through Transgress

Oh, the curdled gore! It turns brown— It turns purple Only some pieces of me are dead.

Its a Premeditated Submission My Selected— Delected ! Oh, Fastidious Suicide

⁂

Bestowed upon ye, ūre proferred "Spectacle of meat"— The fiendish, elated crowd Shoves in to see

Eulogized onto a sot— A drunkard for the pain, It smiles

Rhapsodic at the end— It shines

"Your World is ending, now"

⁂

17/X

I'll long for it I'll crave it, Then I'll despise.

It'll have me mourn It'll have me cry, Then I'd just rejoice.

I yearn for it, A choice— I want nothing to do with…

What irregularities Those of the unchaste life… I would sometime wish this was not, Yet I'm sickened— at the thought…

(…)

18/X

Phantasms of a shrivelled room— Ill lit— Engulfed in shade, I look from above.

Highlighted— A white leather love seat, The embracement of two figures— One on top of the other.

Arms, legs Clasping— Pelvis, Head— & a longing desire, Lest succinct lust.

(11/X)

I tend not look much at myself I tend— not really… ever perceive myself In any way there is

I tend not acknowledge— The existence of an own— Or anything else about it, really...

Perception Or other's exercise of it I grow sick— "No way— not in any way— really"—

⁂

I tend forget these looks When foundered— at my own reflection Be it so different, though so akin

“It’s been so long”— since what? —I wouldn’t really know…

⁂

I gaze upon my scars, wrinkles, hair— My body, face— oh, featureless fine.

And memories seem to spark— And it feels as if I’m birthing— thoughts Of someone I’m not

I tend not remember That I’m alive And then I’m it—

(16/X)

Stab in and drag it down Opeth thy wounds, Pull the infection out

A clot of blood Others of pus I play with it in my hands Then I consume

⁂

Set aflame— A million spikes bury through

And I regurgitate Just to swallow once more

⁂

“Faciem meam excorio”

I stab in, twist And deal as much damage as possible

Maim me, I wish be but— unrecognizable For I wish be not me

(15/X)

Diffidence Hatred To some-self And I wish only but awake well

In a barren land I catch whiffs of it

Everyone No longer there— Everyone ever And I can’t stand it

⁂

And it’s climbing out As I push it down A gurgle Washed—

And you know you did something wrong It screams you it—

⁂

Crashing down Pick at my scars and smell the rot So pungent it’s debilitating So much I’ll shiver

So much I’ll despise And adore It— Profusely.

(14/X)

Exposed fracture, Triturated bones— So ecstatic— I will feast on it.

(…)

Cannibalistic depictions of love. I am but— Utter decay, Loving Itself.

⁂

Gnash, Gorge, Choke.

Eating blisters whole— Rapturous, ravageous.

Without a stomach, And stripped of guts. The pulp— It stores in its head.

Grow. Grow. Grow.

Pop.

⁂

It is Scattered (…) My walls, ceilings, roof.

(…)

And I’m So famished, So hungry.

My body, Now but mandibles, Creeps, Writhes, Slithers & Crawls

(14/x)

My flesh

It violently turns inside out;

My stomach ruptures,

My veins pop—

I feel but a gurgle:

Pus, spit;

The acids coat

My now-prolapsed insides.

As it releases

These ungodly fumes—

Miasma, necro-sludge—

That exhumes this soup.

⁂

My vision blurs:

Red cataracts,

A bloody show.

I am blinded by

my eyes,

turned inwards.

I crack my

Fingers, and

I’ll crack

My bones;

I’ll smash my

Skull; I’ll scrape

My toes.

I despise their feeling,

& I hate them be—

⁂

Infected,

gangrenous,

sick,

ill.

I’ll stab my chest,

cut my pits,

peel my arms.

I tear my ankles,

puncture my feet—

they itch.

They itch, ache,

itch—

from the inside

out; I crave

release.

***

My blood is

Polluted;

I need it

Out.

I cut myself—

Then again,

So again,

Again,

Again,

Again.

I want to turn

White. Drenched—

Red.

⁂

I’ll stick nails

in between my

nails, too—

In the eyelids,

As if it was to

The cross.

They need more

Pain; it needs

More pain;

I need more

pain.

So I’ll smash

My limbs,

And mince its

Meat—

⁂

Bruise—hematoma—

a kiss,

loving, caring,

joyous

kiss.

Exposed

Fracture,

Triturated

Bones—

So ecstatic—

I will feast

On it.

The fever boils—

My brain turns

Into paste.

Same I gnaw—

***

Cannibalistic

Depictions

Of love.

I am but

Utter decay,

Loving

Itself.

Gnash,

gorge,

choke.

Eating

blisters

whole—

rapturous,

ravageous.

⁂

Without a

stomach,

and stripped

of guts.

The pulp—

It stores

In its

Head.

Grow. Grow.

Grow.

Pop.

⁂

It is

Scattered

(…)—

My walls,

Ceilings,

Roof.

Spectacle of

meat.

And I’m

So famished,

So hungry.

My body,

Now but

Mandibles,

Crawls,

Creeps,

Writhes,

Slithers.

⁂

To replenish

Itself—

It crawls,

Eats;

So it loves

Itself—

Eats, shits,

And, furthermore,

Eats thou

filth.

⁂

Zombie,

Cannibalistic,

Autophagous—

Zen—

With a

Purpose—

Previously derealized—

(10/X)

One after the other, again

One in every ten

My atonement, penance, eternal death, karet

Knives running through me

In vain and pain

Cold hands, fingers like razors

⁂

Spikes eroding from the flesh

Every pore,

Gridlocks of sharpness— Out one after the other

Waves— ecstatic disgrace

Impaled, picked up from the grounds—

Prostrated,

And left at ease

For you, demon—

Strangled

Broketh neck

⁂

Oh, master of wounds

Break my neck

Put out my light(…)

Skin breaks up apart

Pulsating palpitating cysts

Bruises, ecchymosis, clots, hematoma

Pools of stagnant blood— infected

I am but an infection— This whole turns into my infection!

⁂

The body contorts

The flesh screams

Anguish runs the blood

Restless, yet weak, lest tantrum

Squelching throb, it rots— I decompose—

The flesh rejects itself

Body fights against thee, happenstance

Hatred, suicide, happenstance

Feeble are you, sons of Sion

In beddings for death

Self-cannibalistic, lest famished

⁂

Quivering, shivering

Animalistic—

I convulse

Unbeknownst to all

Abrupt switch

Beauty overflowing

I am in a quest

To cathart

Within puddles of shit

I jump, jolt and run

So sudden, and energetic

⁂

As if a dance

It goes across the room

As if rejoicing

I bust my guts

As a spark

I shine

It all turns red

I am drained

⁂

My worst nightmare— every second

Feel it? my lackings

"Gotcha~"

Unable

Privatized

So atomic!— no more struggles

It gives in

⁂

Bodily betrayal

So it shuts off—

Loathing,

Helplessly

Sweetened leprosy

Flesh contorting

Rotting whilst i breath

Death comes slow

⁂

Oh, so humiliating

So powerless— frustrating

Disempowerment

Oh, so romantic-

The lecherous,

Lascivious-

Now bygone pain

(9/X)

Something is dying and I don't know what to do.

Apostasy in the marrow Apostasy in the breath Hollowed out, hollowness.

Host. Hysteria.

Praying unbeknownst to whom, Starved and devout— Why should I kneel for communion? When the wafer is ure effervescent skin

And I'm still chewing.

⁂

Scourge my appetite— Then lick the plate clean, We've got priorities (…)

Rancid. Rapturous. With a craving for dissection— Lustful—

Longing to be consecrated, Then vomited back onto the altar— Spoiled Sacrament!— Phlegm.

⁂

I draw my tongue alongst the pew's Edge, Then swallow splinters whole. Gnash, gorge, choke Blissful revolt.

Given to abuse It hymns to me, and I need to unbecome It 's so sacred… And I really need to unbecome—

With just the right amount of ammonia!

(8/X)

Something is dying and I don’t know what to do Eroticism in decay Eroticism in death Weak and weakness

Death Despair

I am dying and I don’t know what to do Thirst, hunger Why should I need sustenance When I am dead

And I’m still against it

⁂

Punish my necessity Yet comply at the end Because we’ve got priorities

Miserable Ecstatic With a will of dismemberment Lustful

Wishing to be eaten Then spat out Turned into phlegm!

⁂

I run my fingers across the filth Then slide them into my gums Bite, munch, eat Blissful revolt

An addiction to it It turns me on, and I need to kill myself It 's so hot… And I really need to kill myself

(7/X)

How could anyone bear my presence— When my skin itches and burns Filled with hatred and disdain— As if it was allergic to itself

Burdened— Privilege can’t stir you away— From being miserable— Yet so full of grace

⁂

I have no permanence! Entranced, paralyzed Feelings of strangeness— Dreams! Once more…

I want to feel real I want to be real And true (...)

Roaming around! Nowhere to be— Nowhere to go Out of sheer defiance

⁂

(6/X)

Oh, hi. So, are we going out? Performative act— Spectacular execution! Immaculate, mea esse

Boredom— an instruction towards death Convergence— dissent, schism Commanded by whom? This’self

Yearning for decay My indecent act— I’m condemned! For I’ve been taught we ought to condemn ourselves

⁂

I refuse— I condemn— Everything that feels well I rebel! Against (with) my nature

My gut craves it— I despise it... Overlapping sensations! I've found comfort— In illness

Infection, pus, semen, blood Eroding skin, pulsing flesh I am the most alive— When I’m dead

⁂

And filth is what’s tastiest to me...

(5/X)

An oozy feeling— Sludge coming out of my pores. Solemnly secreted— As a defense mechanism.

Wretched conception. Mendacious propaganda. By my temper— fully rejected. The fendment of one's self— From their own spite.

⁂

Panegyrics to ūre decay— Everything becomes unappealing As I've failed— To evoke the pain.

Put at every disadvantage I'm in track for desertion— Yet destined to further rehear it By the belated unbalance.

⁂

(4/X)

A shunning stench Partured— a proneness for squalidness Uncertain, as I often am. I too exude of the miasma.

Masochistic advent Of thy imminent anew Thou hackneyed normal— Undeniably— unsurprisingly, derealized

⁂

Witness, victim and adversary Indelibly imprinted— Indoors— Of this one soma

They'll pervert me as I'll use them up— For the non-licet Traverse— of ūre entropy

⁂

(3/X)

Distressed. Distorted. My fate has me warped! Hot. Damp. Bound and binded by it.

Unfazed in thy woe. I can never not be accountable. Yet feeble is the thirst— To quench the animosity.

⁂

I am busy enough— Living— With the malaise of this vexed skin. Working against my self-immolation.

Capricious and fickle— I stand here unappalled! Talking to the ghost of you. Yet another show of hypocrisy.

⁂

I am sorry I'm the reason of you. There shouldn't be. Yet here I lay— dejected and despondent Acting as if we weren't one.

(2/X)

They come from different times, All in which I've been present. They've morphed into the traces of a soul, An excerpt, so they stick around.

It's those little phrases, Those sly comments, Oh, the verses of a poem, So they stick around

⁂

They all morph into a whole piece. An amalgamation of thought, That carries on a sole conversation

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