Pleasures Decayed
(Seduction as a Virus)
By Nathan Charles

I become the Narcissist
Wallowing in selfish bliss
Tasting only pleasure’s kiss
The sting of lust reflecting this

Pleasures to decay
I become the Exhibition
Giving in to self-ambition
Savoring the world’s submission
As it longs to shed its inhibition
Pleasures to decay

I become the Invitation
Yielding subtle soul-sedation
In this world of our creation
A seduction of the whole,
our mutual temptation
Pleasures to decay

I become the Voyeurism
Gently weaving catechisms
Tempting you to leave your prison
As we delve into a life they damned forbidden
Pleasures to decay

I become the Obsession
Reading all your true intentions
Bleeding all untold confessions
And the misery to me you dare not mention
Pleasures to decay



I become the Victimized
Murder me with hateful eyes
Resentment now replacing lies
Bare the gift of my demise
Pleasures to decay

www.pornographicsuicide.com

avoid rhyme-scheme...

rhyme-scheme is outdated, bland, boring, amateur, annoying, and despised by 99.9% of modern poets everywhere......try reading some modern poetry, you'll see that pretty much all of them never use rhyme-scheme ever

just to add (seemingly out of nowhere)..replace the word "rhyme-scheme" and insert "classic rock" (for most cases..)

cough.

and since i posted on your thread, i guess i'm obligated to critique a little...well, what sixxx said, yet, i like the attempt at what you're trying to do (from what i can feel from only one poem)... lets see more of your writing, kill the rhymes and let loose the imagery.

I've read a lot of modern poetry and I have to say that, aside from some Beat writers, most modern poetry sucks. It's like any moron can pick up a pen and start jibbering about a bunch of crap that I could give a shit about. Not that I don't like poetry that doesn't rhyme. In fact most of my poetry doesn't. But to say that rhyme scheme poetry is "outdated, bland, boring, amateur, annoying" is pure ignorance (I suppose you don't like classical music either). Some of the greatest poets that ever lived used rhymes.
Hmm, you know, what I said above about jibbering about a bunch of crap could be applied to just about any form of writing. So, I guess I'm going to have to say here that I don't base merit on style, but content. If the poem does what it is supposed to then I could care less how it is written.

Read "False Death" under Literature, Stories and also "Transcendence" under the same category. I put them in that category because they are really more allegories than poems. But you might like them.

well, i guess it's a difference of opinions....you and Billy would make good friends!

anywho, rhyme-scheme before modernism was acceptable, and used quite nicely i might add.....and a few poets after the modernist movement were able to use it as well....but essentialy, rhyme-scheme has been abondoned since the modern movement (early 1900's).....in today's poetry, IT IS old, outdated, bland, boring......unless done in a style accepted by modern poets, such as slam-poetry, lyrical poetry, etc.........

but the really has to do with the demand for prose from most big-name publishers........

i personally don't really favor prose.....i like style in my poetry, but i just think there's other vices other than meter and rhyme-scheme that can be used....rhmye-scheme is just so overdone.....

and you're right, there are a lot of morons who write shit poetry these days, but there are a lot of good ones.....

AI (l-m-n-o-p)
cummings (W. 3 = E, r.....D?)
Plath (woe is me, is that a stove?)
Bukowski (pop that zit boy!)
Ginsberg (is da bomb, bomb, BOMB!)

anywho, um, i like some classical, but i'm by no means an enthusiasts......i like jazz...does that count?

but yeah, to each their own i guess...

I'm not very well versed in modern poetry (cept billy collins) but I think you are getting the effect in your poetry that you are going for and it sounds good as well as communicates well.... and basically isn't that what poetry is all about?

I take it you've read Jack Kerouac as well. He's definitely one of my favorite Beat poets (as well as just being a damned good writer in my opinion). I'm not a big fan of Ginsberg though, sadly enough. I tried reading some of his stuff a few years back and it just didn't do it for me. Oh well. I dig him as a human being, which I guess is saying a lot.

Thanks.

Razorblade
The razorblade that makes the woman, forced to swallow as a child, now chopping, fucking numb. Turn the game around, make them pay. Your father never told you who they were, what they do, what they make you do. Be the razorblade, slut, chop their hearts in two. Make them pay, you love them so and what they make you do…

www.pornographicsuicide.com

hmmmm.....not really sure what to make of this one....

it's uber-prose.....very much a rant.....an angry one at that....

for me, there wasn't really enough substance or imagery to capture my attention......and i felt deceived, for that first line is awesome, but then the rest of the work seems to lack......however, the very last phrase: "you love them so and what they make you do…" is okay.......

but yeah, love the first line, the rest, not so much......and i didn't really get the symbolism of the razorblade.....

and speaking in terms of the razorblade, the image of "chopping" doesn't really fit (in my opinion)....slicing would be more akin to a razorblade.....

"Your father never told you who they were, what they do, what they make you do."
I really don't get this part, you talk about "they" for a bit and then just forget them, and who are "they" anyway, other people? preppy kids?

I also love the frist line, it's kinda hard for the rest of the poem to follow that up tho

Yeah, I was definitely in a bad mood when I wrote that one. I was very contemptuous in regard to an ex-girlfriend of mine. As far as the razorblade goes she used to cut herself up a lot with razorblades, so that was kind of a prominent characteristic in my mind. I can understand your disappointment though. At that point in time I wasn't too big on editing my work. It was just straight out of my head and onto the paper and that's it. As regards the words "chopping" and "slicing" I understand your criticism, but to me slicing just sounds too tame for how this girl treated me (not that it wasn't mutual or anything). She really "chopped" more than anything else. And somehow calling this poem axe or hatchet or even butcher-knife just sounds a little too corny for me.
Thanks for your critique. I've been waiting a while to have my writing taken seriously. Friends and family usually just give me a lot of praise, which I find annoying beyond words. It's like hanging out with a bunch of yes-men.

Yeah, I admit this poem is a little too personalized. "They" would be men who took advantage of the girl I'm talking about and made her what she is.

The clashing of seasons is upon us. Nights persuade morning mist to permeate the deserted earth like a dark cloak that won’t let the winter die. The cold remains hesitant and is soon struck with mute horror as the sun burns the moist covering of numinous fog.

Thats pretty cool, although, to me at least, it sounds like you just found a thesaurus and got real excited about it. The words at times seem forced, and not really fitting, but the idea is pretty cool.

I do like the line..." like a dark cloak that won’t let the winter die". I think it's good for this time of year. But through the almost claustrophobic paragraph, I liked the idea.

the only thing that bothered me is that you started with the changing of the seasons and then went on to mention horror. just seems a bit of a big change. overall tho, the imargey is really good, keep posting man.

You caught me! Just kidding. I actually wrote that when I was just starting to read a lot of poetry (I think I was about 17 or thereabouts). I will admit that I was actually inspired by the definition of the word numinous. But I can asure you my thesaurus was in my room at the time. I was actually out in the morning fog watching it burn away.
It's funny you mention claustrophobia, because at the time I was very much living the hermit's life. I spent about two years in relative isolation.

Re-read it. It's really not as big of a change as one might at first suppose. It's the clashing of seasons and the sun is supposed to triumph over the fog. The psychological symbolism is there even if the poem isn't as good as could be wished.

Sugar Daddy
Flaccid bodies, wrapped in veins with needles growing backwards from our pores. Sexes atrophied, hearts of apathy. Sleeping soundly with the enemy. I’d love to grow so cold. Royalty that sleeps with trash. The backhand, demanding head. Stupid whore, suck my cock and leave before I rape your soul. You raped mine, wearing another’s skin, all the same. Love what I see. A world where all you do is shelter yourself behind walls of abuse. I’ll rip the cock from your father’s lap and shove it down your throat. Do you remember how he felt inside you? Stupid whore. Crushing hearts to kill the father in your head. I become the father. Kill for me. Daddy loves you.