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Wrong wrong wrong
I'm so lonely
Echoes in the dark

White text on a white page
Lines that no one sees

On the dock in the dark
ON a lake in a park
Just yo uand me


Soma
Soma
Soma
Soma
Soma
Soma
Soma
I am the ******, and that is the truth
I am the ****** and that is the truth
Blain is a piain and that is the truth
(It doesn't matter what 's on the insside)

sSOMASOMASOOOMA
asdf
work, the pen crunches into the paper digging a hole into the desk the wood squeals the ink cries out the bblackness washes out in torrents
Crunching, crunching, crumbling, the pen just so many plastic splinters ground into the desk the black inik gushes out in torrents
I am a writer and that is the trueth
reach for the stars and that is the truth
You can never bbe free except within the cage
If you are free in the cage, then you can be free  anywhere
I am a poet and that is the truth
I am a poet and that is the truth
Have you imagined, the feeling of nearness? The darkness? The sighs?
Have you imagined? The feeling? the soooma, sweet soma rushing through your veins?
Tickle me, trip with me, trick me, break me
break me
break me
Break me so I can be free
Blain is a pain and that is the truth
Another hit, that'll tdo the trick, hit me hit me hit me, scooore
When you're strange, faces come out of the rain
ON a dock on a lake, in the heart of the jungle
When the far side of a mountain gobbled up wthe sun
How it gobbled up the sun
And we lay like lovers rocking irocking smoothly
While the mountains gobbled up the sun
Grooving
Bleeding across the sky, black and purple and blue, beat with bruises on the sky
Orange, then the LIGHT THERE WAS LIGHT AND IT WAS GOOD
I am good, and that is the truth

And we shared this moment like lovers, whispered in each others ears like the soft tickle of bats wings, or the delicate abraisinion of worn velvet
And you tickled my ear and I tickled thine
I am a knave and that is the truth
There are other worlds than these, and that is the truth
And you slipped the soma into my mouth and I slipped some into yours and we rode the dock on the lake by the mountains which gobbled up the sun
GNASHING with red teeth smiling GNSASHING and bashing up the sun

And we loved the stars under the covers on the dock

I am a dock and that is the truth

YOU AND ME in and eeeeeeeeendless blanket sea
That is the truth.
We watched the stars shoot the sky, and plucked them down and popped them in our mouths like soma
Oh, so romantic, with the soma stars in our eyes, fighting to get out
I am in a cage and that is the truth
Stillness, slownly, softly, dawn approches
The birds aren't yet awake
Even the sea sleeps
The hungry mountains are ssilent
TGod reached down and brushed aside the Washington clouds
Shook them out
and pulledHelios
In his golden cchariot
And my eyes, they saw you
Your face came out of the rain
Your eyes fluttered open in the maginifcencec
THThe golden glow upon your brow
The soft, soft warmth

ANd my rainy blanket sea revery was shattered
By the beating of the feet of the runner who was burning, screaming, waving, frenzied, flyind, fleeing, crying, screaming, truly screaming

The form sprinted from the shore, pitter patter, pitter patter, the bare feet burning, smacking on teh pine dock
Pitter patter
the flames ROARED
screaming
flailing
leaping into the air
tshe flung herself off the dock
into the water
went out with a hiss
That is the truth.
Soma.
I wrote this with white text and no spellcheck so I couldn't see what I was writing at all. I really like it because it's more raw than anything I could write if I was concerned about spelling or seeing what I was writing.

Inspired by:
- Brave New World
- Soma by Steve Roach
- American ****** (movie version)
- The Wastelands by Stephen King (Dark Tower Series Part III)
- "It Will Follow the Rain" by The Tallest Man On Earth
- "People are Strange" by The Doors
- The Gunslinger by Stephen King
- "Endless Blanket Sea" by me
- "The Day Begins" by The Moody Blues
- "My Eyes Have Seen You" by The Doors
Kevin Bennett  Mar 2017
Soma
Kevin Bennett Mar 2017
1)
Here in the dark where rules don't exist
Gravity slips my wrist to your hips
And your kiss like Soma lay burned on my lips
Sudden a slight, subtle physical gesture
So foreign to think of it - only conjecture
Alluring, your posture bent into mine first

2)
Unable to think, unable to breathe
Unable to reason rational reasons for such indulgence
So known was he to penitence
So unknown was this dream
And that, it was a dream
Cortisol surging, testosterone flowing, epinephrine...surely would split his mind at the seam, and end this cruel romantic dream

3)
Soma to touch her
Soma to feel her
Nothing to know, and none left to sow
Soma to see her
Soma to hear her
When won't it last? When will it go?
Soma to think
Soma to dream
Forever unknowing
Forever I'll be
S Smoothie Mar 2014
the charm bends me in ways I never thought I could go.
I do things
lots of things
hidden things
to invite you to seep into my essences and fall away
the two of us
evaporating into oblivion
as gas and reforming as a new entity
a state of absolute being
the soma of us.
Ceida Uilyc Jul 2015
I could tell you,
But you’d laugh at me.
Because it is bare, raw and pure.
You gloat on the preservatives.
You discard the genuine.
Listen to me, my friend, there is a part of the world, where even a bulb is never, ever, witnessed in real, but reel of the sanskrit Cartoon slots. The peppy  and ‘lone B-grade Cartoons .
Filled with Flesh.
The stories of tantric mantras, with a sliver of diminishing hearth,
on the
Dimensions and depth of the Yoni in the resin of shellac
on the Immaculate ceremony,
In a woodpecker hole just underneath the sealed power of the Yakshini who truly screws it up if you have taste of her once.
the one who harbingers drunk loners of Kavadiyattom alley after 3:20 am.
She takes them to the crown chakra of palm trees.
Shows them the world.
she pushes them off the crown and the falcon falls in endless spirals of a inhuman push that pushes the concrete innards to a danlgling mass of amoebic copulation.
Breath comes back.
It is a big nauseating gag of Kumbhakarnan's long sadya that lasted for half a decade.
Of the soma saras that made the entire India go, ga-ga and believe they've seen the god.
But not one nor any saw the same face, colour, shape or even vibe of the god they had seen alone.
They agreed in unison that all their hallucinations of beautiful humans in Flower UFO s and high-tech cloning, were a vital hair in the nostril of the cosmos.
They made, each a god out of their genuine mix of memories.
Or in the, priest's ways,
Hence, the 2.3 Billion populous of the country had the same, well, odd Spiritual benefactors.

Keeping it all aside, lemme be honest, I'd follow many a fairy god-mother but give my milkey teeny tooth to the special one.
Hinduism tells you God is omnipresent.
Hinduism tells you God is within you.
It also says, there is no God.
The clipper to snap off the confusion of this, lies in the same cheap stained-yellow cliche of love. It entails everything. You, me, animals, plants, cosmos, vibes, thoughts, dreams and the universe.
It tells you to live with your body mind and soul.
From Kamasutras that teaches sense.
The excitement, control and breakthrough of it.
Like tao did under his exposed roof without the sacred dung of from Hindu Land.
This is the secret of a rumoured Mohini,
Of her 1000 per hour ******* during the her/ his/ its 352 incarnations.
which was the reason for Big bang.  
Amidst the sultry scant of the voluptuous *******,
Their skin,
a vernacular reflection of a dusk on the Japanese gold beaches, And the mounts,
firm and glowing with the rusty shade of pharaoh’s Gold anklet.
The gooey glaze of yesterday’s glamour in the wink of a gay galore.
Paulo Ceolho’s Holy Communion with God,
Or like the Japanese Tengaman says,
Or rather screams,
That all it it takes is a little *******.
So, yes.
That precise art of attaining a consciousness, from where your mind was
Afloat
Wild
Free
Satiated
By yourself
You’ve just consumed the essence of you
Your Ojhas
And the tiny matter that teaches the universe
Of a Shunya.
That, momentary sense of lapse of your body mass,
Or the breakthrough into your eye of the crown.
Only to join the mundane bustle of the 10,00 speakers on all four
JBLs, Boses and Pioneers live looping the zillions of sanskrit mantras under one roof.
In your Ear drum.
A synechdoche of the Gods and their jacuzzi of amphetamine bubbles.
Splashed from a white Elephant's bejewelled Snout, which has the
crowned ring in your pineals.
Secret lies under
the rotten bone chip of Hussain Sagar
deep under the ***** green lake,  
drowning the rainbow Buddha in the city of slimy immortal maggots on ham.
Open your eyes.
For the Gods will
Else
Cut your eyelids off
to show you that
the city's shardminds await you.
roaring
Playing close to the fire demons of Redland
A nail close to your wide open lid-less
White flowing eye.
Hear the city scream.
The deafening chaos,
In unison,
Intoxicating their venomous fruits
of the delirious worlds
Or simply put, divine prayer and offering
for
the Omnipotent,
Omniscient
And the
Om.
Shunya.
Or the cyclic abyss of meaninglessness.
But,
Like, the wilted azures
that seduced those flies,
From a far far away,
To come the praise the combs of their bellies,
Filled with the red from the omnipotent, dead, weak and evil
In one little fly belly.
They came from the
land called Lullaby.
To go there
from here,
But, first,
bear the Weasleys' infamous extendable ears and heed me now, for I say twice and See him Come.
The snake, the tangy smell of goated black rub and blueness.
Siva shouldn't come?
Not yet. A little DMT more in the brain and perhaps the spark will happen.
Better than the potions of those gigantic forest priests.
No, Heed me, now.

3 Dodos Walk-afar,
And, take the lone left-laden log
the one that is,
limitless Long
loyal and  let alone
By those
languors which
Killed
Lord Leopard Loot'.
While,
Lord's Lass
Lays lolled lambs,
Lolled ‘long le ******,
Leech on the laiden log,
leading to Lord Lava,
Yes.
The bridge of Casilii Po.

Of the Lord.
Guarded
By these bubbling bellies with a drop of the world's make.
Assassins.
the Fly, flies.

retain the scarification of theolden curse,
Older than the rocks underneath this gurgling lava,
On which reincarnation steams.

As destiny should have it,
the astrologers had seen,
3 centuries back
That at a Sphinx’s Wedding,
a war of Vision,
will break.
It will
Bring the Stars
Out of those melting blue nightsky of Neruda's wails;
And the diabolic estrangement inflicting Eagle,
From Meena’s vibes,
that rubbed of a distinct scent of Malabar embedding a little of everybody in the village,
on its Kasavu lines posing
at the focus
of Sahib's Ferguson or Baker.

The gold turned white.
A liquid white, like that of the sap,
For that,
***** on a parrot green rubber plant
And work your fun with the white gluey milk,
fragrant than the sap
Like the  Ylang Ylang buds freshly kissed by the drooly dew,
sealed away
elegantly in a crystal Indigo bottle by the pen stand.

One that glitters if you look at its surface, but smells of naphthalene ***** in the sink
in
that
creepy trailer in
mid salem night of the tut.
Colourful.
This is colorblind.

White is motile.
White is wriggling.
White is life.
With a **** of Eve’s fabric-less
Skin.
White is divinity
feeding you excess of everything,
With an tenfold over dosage injected intravenous, by a silver-haired-glow-in-the-dark-dodo-cupid;

She is divine.
**** Her.
**** her on a Pyre.
**** her innards on a fire.
inflame the bubble
of her her oily effluent you found on the toilet seat
Instil in her, the seed of your sodomic occult,
Not by compassion, but through a hiss and sting
of the
flawless venom of the diabolic.  
Then. Disinfect your fruit that you flicked off the paradise.
And bellow to the blowing gurgling below.  
A reign of ****  nihilism,
moaning the mood-swings-of-a-98-year-old-menopausing-Bhairavi of the Indian Aghora Tales;
And Shelly, fueled in his undiminished hearth with the help of his impetous West Wind,
dreaming lucid,
on a flight in the sky for one week,
with Lucy’s sewing  sequined buttocks,
Stinging their luminescent, lactating, lustrous skin,
Like a tatto machine, lifting rays into the epidermis
So that it roasts, burns a soot and neonifies the only colour
A shade of
The rave, rainbow-red karmas of human existence,
Its little greedy quantas waltzing around the matter
And of its unleashed illuminations
That fuel the same vessel in the universe,
infamously known as,
the
black hole.
Uggh!!
All characters and plots are fictitious.
Your nightmares are yours, not Caesar's.
This is truly the fruit of my insomnia. I have been awake 52 hours now. Had to rant the wakefulness out.
It is unedited. All those offended, I didn't mean it, you did.
the dead bird Mar 2016
endless pacing
of these
subaquatic halls
almost catatonic
until I remember
how to think
and then
I cry

I should be
dead

I was dead
free from this
painful
existence
until something -
the WAU -
brought me back
in it's skewed mission
to preserve humanity

the WAU
stitched me
back together
with its gel of life

hardly human
hardly conscious
but conscious enough
to hate what I am
and cry
over my own existence

misery
then
anger
I am half
myself
half WAU
angry
craving to ****
hurt
end
whatever
stumbles across
my path

in my habitual
walks
through these corridoors
I see him

something else
another
who is aware
oh what I wouldn't
give
to have another
sentient creature
to curb my loneliness but-
NO!
STAY AWAY FROM ME!

the WAU
starts talking

**** him
he doesn't want you
to exist
he will
prevent you
from being with me
you need me
we need each other
he wants to end us
to end
life
he must be
extinguished
for the sake of
preserving
humanity

find him
chase him
**** HIM

in my pursuit
of the sentient
diving suit
I recognize
his fear
and my humanity
comes back to me
and I weep

he is
so afraid
of who I am
the Frankenstein
the predator
seeking prey
I cry
because this
is who I am
I cry
because I don't want
to hurt him
I cry
because I am
alive

constantly torn
between animalistic
rage
and the
self aware
misery
of realizing what I am

I want someone
to hold me
and make me feel
human
but
I don't want
any conscious creature
to get near me

for the WAU
is controlling
the strings of this puppet
it is the reason
I exist
it gives me the
sustenance
I need and crave
to keep on
hating my own existence
it will make me
****
anything that crosses my path

I think
and I weep
one of the enemies in the video game SOMA that really stuck with me. wrote it from her perspective. if you haven't played or heard of the game this won't make any sense to you, so ignore it lol
Verden ligger i et sterilt samsurium af apati.
For mig er verden udenfor, og jeg er udenfor verden.
Tankefulde unge simplificeres af normer og repetitionens pragt.
Udenfor, står de
uforpligtende bagateller født i overspringshandlinger.
Med ren marmor under vinter-violette negle,
holder de deres blå sjæle i hænderne -
Tænker Soma-Sema
To fingre i halsen, kolde hænder, ødelagte glasknogler;
Nærmest spirituelt.
Er det sådan man gør udenfor?
Kroppen er sjælens grav
Duke Thompson  Aug 2014
Soma
Duke Thompson Aug 2014
best days better left behind bereft of joy
fighting in vain for fleeting fulfillment
instead seeping bile from punctured
***** appendix found septic too late
even still now hungry for real life like
stomach tapeworm eating purpose
lost along the way now empty, grey
when did time get away from us all
leaving bitter little paisan us's
stripped bare of long dead dreams
like Christmas morning c-section strippers
five dollar bills stuffed in withered *****
S Olson  Mar 2018
Soma.
S Olson Mar 2018
He smiles with the graces of crumbling eyebrows,
with wit, megalithic in the cavern behind
his unformed eyes; i lowered mine, seeking
elsewhere—that here as i sleep, he is formed
from half memory.

The better part of me
remembers him in increments, steadily handed

our orchard, our healthy fruit. His arms overladen
with fibrous molten undulating movement,
a cacophonous cocoon for my madness’

half love. The truer part of me
remembers him as mountainous, thunderous,
a storm eating into the distances. arms
kneading throughout time, becoming. stone.
held helplessly in the hyponotic gaze
of the full moon i sway
the sea is the charmer’s flute
i - the drunken snake
mesmerized by this magic

the cold shock of the nightly surf surges
from the tip of my toes to
the peak of my consciousness
i’m lost
and i find myself
all in the same moment

i rise with the swell of the tide
anticipating each breaker
with closed eyes
just feeling the sandy waters swirl
******* away at the ground beneath my feet
i’d gladly fall and be swept away
i’ve let go

i am at peace

there isn’t a better feeling
there isn’t a greater pleasure
there is no where i’d rather be tonight
except with you
on this beach

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   26.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
This poem was inspired by a visit to the beach at night. You can see this poem along with a photo  at http://vijyalakshmiharish.tumblr.com/

Soma, in Sanskrit, is both:
(a) an intoxicating drink
(b) the moon, or moon-god
Butch Decatoria  Mar 2017
SOMA
Butch Decatoria Mar 2017
Muscle relaxer
Puts you to sleep, a gentille pusher
R X hits the spot
To feel easy on Sunday
Mornin's

When you really feel
The nothing
In the pit, on that spot, at the bottom,
Of your soul

When the air is thick and sticky
It must be sin city
It's juicy rife with indignities
Para socialite delights
Flesh not feelings

The world feels oddly oblong
Alien stranger through my mirror
Adrift and soaked
In the sweat of my demise
A foreigner with the earth of my eyes

As the stress drowns
In Soma,
A half mind in the clouds
My indifference just as hollow
As the experiences of a corpse,

Muscle relaxer
Put you to waking sleep...
    Is that what is truly happening
The experiences of
Poetry without life,
Life without Poetry...

Half asleep
One eye full of worlds
In our world
Every wonder
Everafter

Even in sleep
We fill our dreams with color
And soul and heart and
Meaning ...

(Loves light forever
Beaming)
Michael John Jul 2018
i

why don´ t they just make a machine
that does our living,lily,darling,
save a lot of messing..

we live all these years and then
slowly our memory depletes them
(though they say all memory lives within..)

if we were programmed at the beginning
some kind of limiting of emotion
ambition etc..

alpha to epsilon
brain washing
soma..

*** but no reproduction
endless fun
order..

is belonging
art gone
the way sure..

simple dogma
love or go
love..

ii

lily says
love is meaningless
unless we are ready to

die..
who is..
would i..

i
stood
high
to the very

devil..
fall over
weebil..ha..

but to die
and see sun
rise no more..

little bird
sing
in

the silent
dawn
sweet voice

eternal greeting..
blithe angel
o children

of the future..
messenger of
the gods..

loyal gaurdian
to ever
and never..

outside
and know
a silent cosmos..

be born anew
to heart
be found..?

through-out the poem are references to the
brilliant novel brave new world.for which i make no
apology but as a mark of respect to great talent of
aldous huxley..
Benjamin Woolley Jul 2011
Bursting taps
Like broken feet
Crack,
Droning a beat.
Exclamations and hearts.

Facebook Frankenstein:
Nerves made senseless,
By hyperbolic sentiments.
Stripped as wires,
Latex skin and a rib removed,
Bringing the heart close to the keys.

Orchestrated wires and pulleys
Raising muscles like curtains.
Brushing ***** bleached hair,
Catching fingers like paper cuts.

A hollow form,
Designed in California,
Approved in New Jersey,
And made in some sweat shop.

Flash your smile,
Take your soma,
Dream of MTV;
You're the nightmare of my society.

— The End —