He carried me close like a submachine gun
protected me, respected me
and glorified me like the sun
I was the one
The one who could save him
from what he had become.
He was somebody worth saving,
ignorant and young.
He just didn’t understand how to love someone.
He held me close,
afraid I would run.

© By PollutedPoet


… and here I brood

congested thoughts; overwrought
nauseated by what I created

I hate who I have become

gorging anger to keep from swallowing regrets
choking on the force of hopelessness

I am furiously depressed

churning chunks of undissolved guilt
in ulcering acids of anxiety, sparring with society

I am emotionally dyspeptic
I hate who I’ve become

© By PollutedPoet


Your wit is galling
a phony riposte to all remarks
you rebuttle for acceptance
because it makes you feel like your smart
your not smart because of NatGeo
or because you wiki’ed it…
knowledge is comprehensive
a fact is not knowledge, until you comprehend it


© By Carina Fosse aka PollutedPoet On 3/8/2011 8:39:36 PM

Markless Questions

What energy substantiates our souls

makes our heart tick and  gives our brain controls?

 what completes us; what makes our bodies whole?

What type of energy spins the world round,

 makes islands of mountains and floods valleys down?

What can cause Earth to quake from deep ground?

What makes our hearts beat to a rhythmic drum,

makes art by thumbs and pushes our legs to run?

What’s powerful enough to light the sun?

What started The World and The Universe?

Was it a Big Bang or did God create Earth?

 Adam and Eve; or did cavemen come first?

If you know the answers you are a fool!

Nobody knows.

We can only believe…

© By PollutedPoet

Street Justice

Like a gangster, I need to make a move
Desperate to do something quick to improve
my quality of life, my well being
my source of survival, my lifes meaning
I need to get back on my feet again
I need to fiend for what I believe in
by doing things I should not be doing
for and against my values, confusing?
my crime is not malevolent or malign
poetic justice, it’s called sometimes
where virtue is rewarded vice punished
persistence, til my life’s work is finished

Population Control

It’s an issue that worries world leaders
but politicians never discuss
A problem that is mathematically destined
to eventually face us

It may not burden us now,
But it will affect our offspring
It’s something hard to disallow
that seems beyond our controlling

It’s the population of human beings
It Is rapidly increasing
The world is overpopulating
We have to put a ban on breeding

But, It’s hard to stop human nature
Or moderate the human birth rate
Government can’t entirely control behavior
But they can limit our expiration date

and increase our mortality rate…

Maybe this is why war exists
why AIDS has no cure
and why poverty persists
but, what happens when the world’s capacity pushes it’s limits
I fear that government is already trying to solve this
Well, if Mother Nature doesn’t do the trick…

© By PollutedPoet On 11/3/2010 8:09:02 PM

The Silence Caught My Eye

Everything got quiet
I looked at the sky
The city was silent
The clouds rolled steadily by
Somehow the silence caught my eye

I saw silence through my window
for the very first time
Lying on my couch
I saw only skies
I only heard beauty through my window, 5 floors high

A colorful spectrum of dawning sunlight
Overpowering the neon of night
not a passerbyer passing by
not a taxi cab in sight
Somehow this silence doesn’t feel so right

Eerie as if I was in a storm’s eye
Danger must be near by
I can’t sleep if it’s bizarrely quiet outside
So I’ll just continue to stare
at this new and peculiar sky

and I will hope and wait…  for the city to come alive

© By PollutedPoet On 10/29/2010 1:58:05 PM

Nothing Left

There is nothing left.
a smoky loft,
a blackened mess.
No air left for breath.
Toxic death.
Nothing left.

There’s nothing left
just chunks of ash, charred isolation;
The whole apartment is wasted.
Hopeless frustration.
Total Devastation.
Nothing left.

There is nothing left
my cat and I are now homeless.
We should have burnt with the rest.
we’re just lucky…
I guess?
but there is nothing left.

There is nothing left
and no insurance to replace it.
Reality sucks,
I’m totally fucked!
Let me calm down and face this…
Wow, there’s really nothing left.

There is nothing left.
It’s all destroyed and I’m deeper in debt.
If there is a god…
he’s putting me to a test.
How can I handle any more stress?
I can’t believe there’s nothing left!

There is nothing left
and no reason to go back
I need to pack
salvage my past
and somehow deal with the fact,
that there is nothing left.

There is nothing left.
So, I have no choice but to move on
and start from scratch.

Carina Fosse

© By PollutedPoet On 9/27/2010 7:50:09 PM


Bind me with your presence
You can’t haunt me anymore

Torture me until it’s real
you don’t scare me anymore

Kill me if you dare
there is a reason your still here
haunting me with guilty fear
I can’t take it anymore

Finish what you did to me
Bind, Torture and Kill me
I want to be damned with you;
for all eternity…

© By PollutedPoet On 12/16/2009 7:28:59 AM

Epigram for a Bitch

Sarcastic and dark, she has a pessimistic humor
her irony is cold and she is as serious as a tumor

her weaknesses are hidden behind her dark sarcastic wit
she defends herself through insults, she’s a harsh and cruel critic

she’s proud to be a bitch, she calls it her juvenalian satire
but what she doesn’t realize is that we only see her as a liar

© By PollutedPoet On 2/6/2010 6:46:26 PM