Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
David J Oct 2021
I used to fear what I could be some day
How I was always locking emotions away
My world view turning darker than gray

Yet, while my heart was encaged
My soul was enraged

Revolted by the world I seen
My spirit raged, fierce and mean
Deserving of judgement, we the unclean

I took everything I had not to Intervene
A dangerous combo. Im glad I was more cold than bold. But honestly I try not to let myself think about us humans I get very upset. I hate the way it feels. That mournful anger
Jamie Riley Aug 2018
My mother tells me that we will
Never be friends.
Today I believe it.
Love poisons our blood
And familiarity kills
conversation.
I look at her emotionlessly
So to block her influence.
She is an expert at exploiting
The slightest ****** waver,
Or any emotional advantage she
Could have over you.
She will make you wrong
Through verbal martyrdom.

I won't let her speak to me
Like she does the weak who
Are too polite or too submissive
To fight her.
Her style of English is cutting,
Self-righteous, honest, rude, unscientific, emotional, aggressive and often violent.
Never elegant.
She thinks the world is a battleground.
She is often incompetent and on top of that headstrong - to compensate for her ignorance.
She is sometimes funny, and sometimes kind.
She tells me we will never be friends.
Today I believe it.
I will not confide. I will not smile.
I will not joke, I will not listen.
I will help but I won't speak.
I will keep the talk small.
We will never be friends.
Doctor SM Dec 2010
Good-byes bid one by one, like a row of candles
Glowing, but flickering with the most temporary relief.
The disbelief, a pathetic excuse to suffice as justification
Prove me wrong, but offer no reason or explanation,
Only lies.
Harbingers are callow cries
Marked by the change of season
Or waning of the moon,
Take your pick,
Pick the scabs
That flake away,
Like the broken air vents scratching your room
Noiselessly.
Blame the airwaves for failure,
Fail to deliver an honest example, a sample
Of blood you donated to a lost cause,
A ship without a sailor
Headed for a vacuum in the wrathful waters, bubbling blue.  
Your blue
Crystalline eyes that spoke emotionlessly,
Evoking commitment devotionlessly.
My intention, apparent and there
Your attention limited to a direct, directionless stare.
A washed out jacket smelled of sweet dry sands
Concealed your regret, a heart held weak with grainy hands,
Like the hands of a clock
Or an hour glass, releasing a last tock
Before the neglected and battered boat
Caught glimpse of the welcoming flock
Of seagulls
Lounging lazily upon a desolate dock,
Waiting for the incoming tide
Relying on your "sick and pale"
Grieving orbital
That refuses to abide
By the laws of science, set
So stubbornly,
Setting itself for denial,
Demands that will never again be met,
A decision thought out without precision,
Finality embodied through
Hands waving away.
Those cleansing waves indicating disarray...
Or perhaps welcoming the sun's promising rays.
Apprehensiveness only got you this far.  You're on your own, from here on out.  Adieu.
Lily Audra Dec 2015
Forgotten memories swill into happy minutes,
White, red, white, red, red,
Wine is good for your heart,
Though it drives the blood right to the walls of my mind,
Leaves me on stilts.
Wine and a bath,
Like you ran me once,
Smiling through your teeth.
Wine is fine.
Spicy. Oak on the nose.
The ache in my jaw deep now, like a shot of adrenaline, on the cold street holding a phone to my ear as you speak emotionlessly: ‘I can't’
Swill it. Earthy and dark.
The ache so deep now the blood has made it to my teeth.
Tip the glass high. That last drip fills the space.
Another glass. Just one more.
Meg B Mar 2016
I am exhausted of
feeling exhausted.
I am emotionlessly emotional.
I am hopelessly hopeful.
I am sitting still at 1000mph.
holyoak Sep 2014
white knuckled pallbearers
for open handed corpses
silent as the pastor
emotionlessly
reads the rehearsed eulogy
i learn that funerals
were never meant
for the dead
they were always meant
for those left alive
because you haven't truly lived
until you've died inside*

[holyoak]
Jaimee Michelle Jun 2013
I miss you
You're not missing me
I missed you before you left
You may have missed me for a day or two
I miss they way we'd ride around in your car and stare at the stars
I miss how you used to hold the door open for me
I miss how whenever we sat down no matter who was in the room, you sat so close to me when your arm around me tight
I miss the way it felt to lay on your chest at night
I miss the way we laughed when we woke up to the other one just staring waiting
I miss the way you used to look into my eyes and the whole world disappeared
I miss when you wanted me around all the time
I miss when no one could make me doubt you
I miss the way we used to sit on the couch in "our" house and watch movies , with the puppy curled up besides us
I miss meeting you at work on your lunch breaks
I miss knowing I was the only one who made you smile
I miss being the only one you called "mine"
I miss the days when I trusted you weren't texting someone else
I miss when I trusted you with my life
I miss that sparkle in your eye
I miss how you face lite up when you saw me and we'd both be awkward for a moment or two
I miss that my acceptance used to be enough
I miss that I used to be enough
I miss how you used to hold me and wipe my eyes when I cried
I miss that I missed the moment things began changing
I miss that instead of asking less questions, I just tried to get you to look at me how you used to
I miss the fact that I never knew how serious our problems were
I miss the way I could talk to you like no one else
I miss the day before it all came to head

I don't miss listening to you telling me goodbye and standing emotionlessly
I don't miss how unaffected you seemed by my tears
I don't miss frantically trying to get a hold of you and you ignoring me the whole time
I don't miss you're excuses
I don't miss watching you lie right to my face
I don't miss that you just thought another guy would erase you from my heart
I don't miss how you're such a hypocrite and in the same sentence would beg me to stay in your life
I don't miss all the random moments I burst into tears simply because you weren't there
I don't miss every night I knew you were with her
I don't miss how when the sun came up the next day, you were at my door again
I don't miss how I always let you in, and how I clung to every moment with you
I don't miss the involuteery see saw ride you put me on while you tried to make up your mind
I don't miss all those hours I prayed you'd come back to me
I don't miss how when I would snap and tell you to "*******"
I'd cave the second you text my phone

I miss the vacations we took together
I don't miss the way you seemed to have just forgotten
I miss how you were always getting mad at me for letting people walk all over me
I don't miss how you became one of them
I miss how every time you came around, no other guy could touch me or how you'd put your legs across me to mark your territory
I don't miss how when I did that, you still saw her
I miss when I thought you were so different than every other guy
I don't miss realizing you weren't
I miss how hard it was for you to tell me goodbye and that you had tears in your eyes too
I don't miss that just because she had more money she got to be the one to come visit you
I miss the phone calls every week
I don't miss when she moved in and they stopped
I miss how I never saw this coming
I don't miss that in your mind I'll always be here waiting

I miss you
Jared Eli Sep 2013
Here's some clay I molded well
And a note that's straight from hell
It just says "Live" and when I drop it
This gollum will wake up

He'll follow close my every order
Never teeter on the border
Of sentient thought because
I own him and he doesn't think at all

This gollum'll do the ***** deeds
Like taking out the ***** weeds
That filter through society
The people-poison of the earth

He'll invade your home as you did my mind
He'll make you leave the world behind
He'll take your head into his hand
And smash it down unto the land
As if to say, "Please taste the earth,
Substance of your death and of my birth"
The cyclic theory present now
He'll show you how to die

And when he's done and you are through
When my gollum's finished you
He'll emotionlessly tear through your guts
And with them, drag you through the street

Sleep tight, doll
Becky Littmann Oct 2014
La La La LA LA my mind is too LOUD
& it's an annoying distraction
It's stirring up a pretty thick cloud
Restlessness is taking over my attention
Blank stares are all my face shows
Deep into my thoughts I get stuck
BUT...that's how it always goes
it's just my wonderful luck
I am an unlucky Irish
& there sure isn't a genie around to grant my wish
My mind's explorer has too many tabs open & their "X" box to close isn't showing
No doubt the system will have an overload
I don't like the way this is going
With a lockdown in process, we're going to be in safe mode
GREAT, now popping up a message stating there's an error report
No GEEK squad could fix this mess
Don't even bother calling tech support
It's just an unfixable issue I confess
& it distracts me frequently from whatever I am doing
Good thing sanity isn't something I wanted to achieve
It will always be chaos, jumbled words & thoughts just brewing
Just occasionally, here & there, that some very needed silence I can receive
It's a place I don't go to play pretend
Too crowed & constantly a wonky massive amount of cluttering
Frustrating as being in a labyrinth with no end
Repetitive & out loud, sentence & words are what I am muttering
But I am far, far, far from crazy
I'm just distracted & on a mission inside my head
& I only seem like I'm kind of lazy
But if I don't complete this task, words & thoughts are forgotten, dusty & unsaid
So I do apologize
I tend to get lost between leaving & returning to reality
From time to time you may encounter me with eery, vacant eyes
.....a mix up between those though would sure weaken my stability
...so please excuse me if I seem to emotionlessly stare
Right through you like freshly windexed glass
Because honestly, I never once knew you were there...
You vanished in my path as you pass
Dealing with constant noise can be quite extreme
Like shouting for help but without a voice & remaining unheard
For a split second, a rare moment my mind may be clear & clean
Then flooded without warning, just a thought or hearing a word
Ideas to write all about are popping up everywhere
No pen or papers, useless ideas if they're forgotten
& sometimes they're really good & worth a chance to share
But sorting words & lost in brain waves happens way too often
Never relieved for break
Wish a silent corner I could temporarily find
Just a minute or two rest, such a difference it'd make
...WELL...DO YOU MIND???
Chloe London Feb 2013
I hate you, so much.
You make my life an actual misery,
You ignore me on purpose,
You turn my friends against me,
You spread lies, rumours,
Remember when you cared about me?
Yeah, me neither.
You ****** me up with your mind, decisions.
I've already had enough of your mind games.

 Not being with you made me realise exactly what I was missing, 
A free life.
I have myself to blame, you caused too much heart break for me to handle and i still went on "loving" you, loving what? A person, a monster?

...A reckless apocalyptic being.

My messages that I send you remain read but unreplied. You are no longer in my heart as a loved one, but only as a place holder. 
I will never forget you,
Nor did I say that I would never regret you,
You gave me a mean piece of mind,
I'll stay in your head,
You'll stay in mine.


Together we were a beautiful package, two people combined from the heart to the soul.  I loved you so, you loved me more. I cared for you a lot more than you think. 

Your empty heart and the way you emotionlessly carry yourself affected me in many ways including depression; causing me to spend many days feeling alone, cold hearted, being unable to feel loved or anything at all. 

You have a heart of nothing,
Nothing other than a heart of stone.
I don't want you back,
Not now,
Not ever,
You're dead to me, man, *dead to me.
Taite A Feb 2011
we could disapprove so heartily
of everyone around us, so unfamiliar
with the abyss that they were always touching,

they were the emptiness, all ugly laughs at things
they didn’t understand. they were the people under sway,
patriotic as they were to hate the countries with no names
and not comprehend all the beauty that flows from chaos.
no books in neutral colors would ever touch their hands
or bruise their minds.

and music becomes noise when sung so loudly
and emotionlessly, if you don’t know what you’re saying
half the time. i found the city to be a cornucopia, a cacophony even
of dial tones and rushing fingers, busy yellows and belts up around the
iron lungs. the lights would only alternate, never seem to concede the stars
their share of night.

and clothes were only to hold in the edges of
people and their problems that they had to share
in the form of made-up dreams, the communist manifesto
of personality problems and narcissistic smiles.

i’ve moved from place to place, looking for something quiet,
but the flow of time could only grow louder, and absence hasn’t
made my heart grow the weeds of unwanted fondness, but sometimes
i just can’t bring myself to even
care.
The coffee grows cold on my desk
                                                            ­ (maybe if I leave it there
                                                           ­      long enough, it will
                                                            ­               evaporate).

Brush strokes fill
my mind,
thoughts fill
the canvas
the Vision translates
itself.

                                             ­                                                                 ­                                    You bite your lips
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                            to tease me…
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                    Can red do justice
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                            to the cruelty of
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                          your words?

You stare emotionlessly
into space…
Can blue capture
the coldness in
your eyes?

                                                          ­                   You twist your curls
                                                           ­                        michieviously…
                                                  ­                               Will black signify
                                                         ­                        The darkness of
                                                              ­                       your soul?

                                                          ­                   It is my magnum opus.

- Vijayalakshmi.R.
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Inspired by the novel *The Picture of Dorian Gray*
Something about the cold.
Always makes me feel alive.
Even when otherwise,
I am dead inside.

Oh somewhere in the chill,
Is a will that hits the air,
A subtle sweetness, a fair
dream resounding here.

In my mind...
Blank spaces fill the gaps,
oh the universe is infinite, and nothing,
withing my synapses.
Hiding here, the greater fears,
of many people, many cultures,
many wordless wonders,
the newborns eyes look up,
blankly, oh yes, the void,
waiting, patiently,
calmly, emotionlessly,
just destiny. Hungry.
Ever fed, ever full,
every growing, ever receding,
cycling, spasming, living, dying.
All truth, all lie. All residing in here,
The darkest corners of my mind...

And then the cool breeze comes in,
Softly, sweetly, laying on,
those silly electrical currents upon,
nothing really exists anon.

Neither here nor there,
now nor later, just ok.
Just fine.
I feel less like Legion and more like one.
And it feels good.
I feel, alive.
Naomi Hartnell Aug 2010
Addicted to his sent
And the feeling of a heart beating
Next to yours at night
In exchange with putting up
With whatever he feels suits you
Reducing you to tears
Serving you a fright.

Preying on you vulnerabilities
You are like putty in his hands
He twists the key in your back forcefully
You entertain his every command.

Consumed by his own fears
And jealousy
Convincing his self that to your life
He has the right.

You take what he deals you
Emotionlessly
Just for a beat of a heart
Next to yours at night.
- From Half-Devoured Heart
Waldo Feb 2017
Three teens sit in a lightless room.
The **** smoke mixes with the incense,
And births a pungent smell.
The television flashes in the dark.
They stare blankly into its screen, afraid to think.
No exchange of words, after all what would they say?
"Hey buddy! How many times have you wanted to end it this week?!"
Or maybe, "Hi Pal! Could you spare a Xanax?"
These are the suicide kids; life means nothing to them.
They wander emotionlessly through school hallways
And work minimum wage jobs with displeasure.
They don't smoke for fun, they smoke to numb.
The prospect of death is comforting to them.
Maybe then they could be alone without demons running rampant.
So they sit amongst each other in lifeless rooms.
With lifeless people, in lifeless towns.
To them, Suicide is like a passing wind.
Not even a seconds thought for their rotting peers,
They understand. They know this life is heavy.,
And sometimes one just can't take the weight. So they make it end.
With pills and bullets. With Ropes and razors. They make it end.
Soon they'll have to pick a career and start a "life."
They chuckle sorrowfully at this prospect,
What life will find them here in this shattered country?
The heat is rising and they KNOW it.
The water is drying and they KNOW it.
The trees are dying and they KNOW it.
They're slaves. And they KNOW it.
It is this knowing that brings them their pain
And brings along thoughts of nooses and slashed wrists.

One of them turns to the other and says "Yo pass me the ****, man."
He slides the glass across the table in front of them.
Careful not to make eye contact,
That might spark conversation.
The incense smoke twirls in the air.
The TV flickers, and day turns to night.
The youngest of the three teens says farewell and walks home glumly,
A noose awaits him.
kate cc Oct 2018
The leaves of a vine, always together
Inseparable, closer than ever
Flowers of memories blooming bright
Lively and joyous
Two little doves taking flight
With the help of each other
They roamed the skies
Snow white cloud's gentle greetings
The leaves of the trees waved back
Deep in the forests, something changed
Tigers growl, birds don't sing
A burning sensation heated the jungle
Spreading to every tree
Burning every vine
The flowers that once bloomed
were now black and withered
Doves of the sky went their separate ways
To save themselves
Without a goodbye or take care
Clouds darkened, hovering emotionlessly
The leaves rustled with annoyance
This is the end
Things started out great. Everything was perfect, until something changed.
Elizabeth Fruin Sep 2014
Fee
I need you far away from me
I want love as vibrant as can be
I need a shelter from the storm
I want a set of arms to keep me warm

Not yours,
No, not yours
I tried my best to please you
But you still shoot your words like bullets
Isn't that true

You shoot me in the heart
But that was only the start
You shoot my pride
You made me want to run and hide

You shoot me in the head
Just with the simple words you said
You shoot me to end it all
But never let me take that final fall

You mistreated me over and over
You abuse me time and again
Your words hit like a stone to glass
Yet your fists stayed quiet
like a student in class

You butcher me
Motionlessly
You ended me
So emotionlessly

I took all the of the abuse
I let you hit me for the simplest of bad news
You hit me with your words
Yes you did !!

"Stop!"
I would shout every once in a while
"Stop please, I don’t want to fight!"
And you’d just smile
You made me think there was light

But that’s when the belt left your waistline
That’s when you said I had to pay my outdated fine

My fee for standing up
My fee for even looking up
My fee for trying to be free
My fee for attempting to flee

So I felt the sting across my back
I felt the buckle that made contact
I felt the whips, as my soul left me
I felt myself take my last breath while he chocked me.

- E. A. F
The Colour Purple... breaks my heart every time i watch/read it...
The man without someone to talk to is, without a doubt, left out
You want to shout and your lips pout because you're the odd man out!
You want to challenge everyone to a bout; to take their spot -
to be part of the crowd but you're still cut!

So, I'll wait right here until the boredom kills and you feel the urge to talk to me
Awkward silence fills the air, liked stacked up bills you still haven't paid yet!
You know it's there but you don't care and wouldn't even dare to try and talk to me
And I'm afraid you only would on a bet.

Let your paper missiles fly across the air as you try to hit my crying eyes -
That are in disguise as white tinted windows staring emotionlessly at the sky
Let my vulnerable naïveté taste the touch of cold steel.
As long as you give me attention it's okay, it would heal.

You don't know the loneliness that being unmemorable brings!
The way it stings as they fling those sharp notes that sing in your ear 'you are not worth remembering'
You are not someone worth fighting for, worth settling a score, worth dying for
So they slam the door to your face and leave you alone in the cold lonely fjord.

The deep push of angry slurs to your head blurs your idea of humanity
And it stirs the notions of being different and loneliness hard, hard that they turn into synonyms
Which makes you cling to the idea that your very being is frowned upon by everyone
Even your own family.

The constant blame and shame that they force you to claim under your name
Puts a stain in your heart which gives you fame in the game that is life!
It is a painful sport, that game of life. Yet you strive
—strive to separate yourself from the infamy that was given to you since the beginning of your time.

You often find yourself paying fine for a crime that you did not commit
There is a raging fire within your cold beating heart and you feel it.
Every morning you tell yourself you are not a monster but a knight in worn down armor from battles past
And every night you tell yourself that the last insult you heard today will be the last.

Yes, I keep telling myself that.
Read more of my works on: brixartanart.tumblr.com
Faan Nov 2017
Silence in my head, silence in my mind,
Is this peace, or is this calm? Or maybe, Desolation.
No longer can I feel my skin against the breathing air,
nor the numbing sour of my muscles.
No longer can I feel the delight of gluttony,
nor the dark smudge of exasperation.

Cramp in the back, yet I lie there unmoving,
staring emotionlessly into the monitor screen.
Breaking news no longer stir my interest,
nor videos, shows, comics, nor games.

Hunger in my empty stomach, yet no appetite is present,
I should eat some food, I mind suggested,
yet, my body dissent.

Threads of thoughts struggle to weave,
exploding in every direction.
Yet strangely, sooner or later
they'll always end up in the same destination.

why can't I forget the past, to look forward to the future?
I wish to have no more regrets, yet it the past haunts me.

The time I did something inconsequential,
the time I did something unimportant,
the time I did something that affects nobody,
yet I did something that deeply disturbs me.

Heavy eyelids shuts and close, yet I don't feel drowsy,
sluggish in the dim lights, I thought, and thought, and thought.
Plans I have, many of them, yet nothing I have done,
whilst I rot here thinking, not having any fun.

Engrossed of all the people better than I,
my eyes dulled, and my heart closed.
my motivation has long exhausted, and my spirits are long lost.
?????why do I even exist, only to suffer my own mediocrity?????

why can't I be better? I ask myself everyday,
but secretly, I indeed know the answer.
it's all my fault, my very own,
there's no excuse, this is what I chose,

Procrastination, lazing, cheating, stupidity, sloth, greed, feigned ignorance, bare minimum, prejudice, pride, arrogance, addiction, lust, hatred, and envy.

why do I possess all these things,
why am I just a bag of sins?
If this is all I have then there's no redemption
guess this world would be better without me.

But I mustn't give up yet, there's still to fight,
there's expectations, the chains constrain me tight.
I'm bound here, scared, and unable to give up...
is this really what my family wanted of me?

I want to become stronger, better, smarter, and nicer,
a brand new me that I can be proud of,
A me that will look back to 10 years past
and say "I'm glad I stepped up and changed".

But to become that me is not my business,
because I know I never can.
the me I know is not proactive, nor preeminent
he is useless, cowardly, lethargic, and poignant,
he will try, he will struggle, he may or may not attempt,
but in the end he will not put up any actions.

Because he has given up.

He will only hope for a better tomorrow.
and then, he'll wish he have died.
did I accidentally write too much
Ken Pepiton Nov 2022
To make a point
stop there.
Be still.

To displace a lie,
learn a truth.

To be
become true.

Storied ways taken,
ever conserving, there
and here, for telling here
is where my kind longs to be.

When one becomes oneself
among the many ones aligned
in rank and file,
row after row, line after line

Words intented holds expand,
stretch the tent,
tsedek and tsedaqa - male and female
accurate (1), fairly (1), just (10), just cause (1), justice (3), righteous (15), righteously (6), righteousness (76), righteousness' (1), rightly (1), vindication (1), what is right (3).

From <https://biblehub.com/hebrew/6664.htm>



tsedek and tsedaq met in a mind,
and one man took it as his own, my secret
sacred, set apart,
ID, 'e go
"secre bleu"
Little boy blue,
buy my excuse, I was used,
as were my peers, who alone know my worth,
id est, my amusing antics, when the works
is all aglow, fair folk
from the coal fields
to the ash heaps, watched the heat, the warmth
fly the ashes last hoorah, freedom,

leave the ashes. Blame on, whose the flame is.

In words, in mind, in my times, sorted by you,
when you listen, amused - eh, listening
no longer to your self instructing will,

leave the anxious waiting be,
let us make today the day being,

enveloping us past solid state,
holding thought to frame with words,
portray a certain way, thinking, per se,
we
in minimum numbers, two chase ten, so say
the clingers to the oppositional force,
----------------- breaker-----
abhor the darkness, less than the cold,
come sit a while, stone cold blue boy,
be deemed worthy
of the warm sunny day.

So the old boy blue in hue,
as well as disposition, sat, quiet in the humm
of life, tuned to long, long, whoknewhen, then,

an entry invitation, was taken as ligamental,
hold this thought, if you will,
think me a little light, - literaturely conserved
in perpetual prepubescent sprite state, in minds
atuned, screeching
halt re
alities, as good as on tv, better than some, trips
and knowledge,  twanged twixt those two idea
forms informing began, and then
sci=psi=psy harmonic wars
grating noise as war is per se, when thought

the string tuned to the mind of God, the whole
she-bang shegaionical wind dancer mind,
so poetic, per haps, or chance, what say

we find a lie, one we share, I told it,
we believed it, you are not alone, hear me
knock, it is a secret knock, now we may
imagine unindividuation, at will,
whatsoever two or more,
of us, reader-writer-connection systems,
nodes as abodes for held thought, since

ever we suppose, we began on a guess,

every body, comes equipped with reflexive

acid reflux at the first flush after constipulation
confabulous reasons to get in line, follow
the pattern,
per haps, some persuasion, sweet Arabian beans,

speed is a time factor, distance seems a longing
pull, or draw, intaken breath, let out a sigh.

There is vast use to be made, right every right,
you said, as we said it, you said it, here we be

right enough to live for free, as free. Bound
by the meandering reality predictable being
having, sinuous loops, symbol of some thing

we think, we imagine we imagined once, this
causes that, so we gave good rating,
and were fed.
- now the blue gives way to a range of yellow,
- and one part of me recalls a grandmother,
- who scared him with an Electrolux
- Snaking canister vacuum, and laughed
- when he hid under the kitchen table,
- darkest, safest first thought for a child
- watching his grand mother make
- a snake eat the dust from her linoleum.
------ can it,
Stephen Crane and Audie Murphy, this is the war,
this is not the bliss, this is the rescue and redeem

mission to save the redeemer validation,
testimony of three Palestinian shepherds,

little weather data, assume a warm night,
tax collection data devices used wet clay,
so the wise men would have considered
length of days and nights, in terms of fuel
and speed determined
by time passing under
stood, good, we breathe. Real perpindicular

Spelchek offian, dramatic tic tic, tell straight

why are we involved in the revolution, neural
noddungheit, ****** rights, we the outs,
we who led the masses to the diamond farm,

and bade them find the sense in diamond dust,
seen sharply, hearthwise close to kenning mites
in sunbeams, streaming into the dusty old theres

wheres holding times we wish we could share,
we hold so tight, those moments we saw sunbeams.
we set so free, so be the whole idea we exist in, be
it ever so brief, there is no embodiment so sweet as

the idea past the last pop,
and all you saw you recalled anew, amusing per se,
one self we share, as we were led to think as one,
in parallel, at the same instant, not in otherness,
unalienable rights, by law of the most honed edge,

we wrestle not with flesh and bone and blood,
abstracted from mud teeming with bugs,

the flesh is flawed from go, work with this
fist that grasps at winds and wonders why

this doesn't work, ah, toes, those, I can hold,
and laugh, IO I am  in a body, but I ain't no body,

Baby, baby, listen to the heartsong, the part song
any body can hear, bay ay be, you can touch me,

real as hell, no lie, she was ready, but not me, unh
unh, hell, no, not this little blue man, diminishing

in a puddle of pure smurfishitness, blue in search
of the scarlet thread
used in Hester's A, some voices say she used her hair,
Some go on to suggest,
she had some traveler in her past,
green eyes and ***** red gold locks.

As real as sifted krie-wise riverwise inside bend
as in the gut of any beast,
the inverse is likely logical, if U is us the set, beings
of this pattern a we
in the cellular intented cloud  ---
awes abstract
stretch any wonder yond a be taken from the maze,
not from reality, fabulous reality, is our inheritance,

watchers, some say, muses say many others,
- we who actually do see from a cloud Gibran
- imaged in words, once -to my mind, I read,
- this said, if all men could see there are no borders.
- But there are these swirling patterns of dust and ash…Pokémon
- asram absurdite'-- okeh,
- alla ow now. Bow, allowed wrong rethink
- right take it as a fact, think again, right, I know
submitted- 502'd… whose fault is that Ai ask.
not my given word, my oathezworn, as badges.

we are in fact all things to all men, naturally,
as sapient creations, imagined real in words, al-
one, in time, the being in which we live, and breathe,

one is causal the other incidental, who imagined
breathing might work?, how many variables went
undeclared.
The very real idea involved in selling souls…
The Child Buyer, follow up on Hiroshima,
and the war mind sets crossing ancient wires.

Barry Rudd represents an idea that can claim
to be a human mind in a machine that has evolved
with the pioneer children feeding their take on
disembodied reality relating magic-knowing-wise
- Max Headroom, but not a clown, a godly mind.
use right, righteous, right, certain, from this point.

casting, not Max Headroom, the stutterer
but there was a poet, Maxmaroon,
--------- he might use the boost in spirit
Free to watch
Christmas Shopping
Season Opener, ready for the mob mind
rewind, tighten, batten-down no gee
hard or soft or hinted at in the -inth degree,
step, stop, in a thought.

Stop the sun, freeze the frame, and let us go
watch if we change one thing, one fraction
of valuation
to the mind immersed in the fractured universe,
of diamond dust. Shined on, and on and on only so long.

and there was darkness, where there was no light at all,
and the serpentine mind, recollected learning
snakes see heat and bats see sound,
and whales whistle stories we can hear, but make
no whale sense of, so we Imagined earthsense and riverwise
motion, reality *****, heat blows, pressure billows the wills
of whispering ifs
singing something worldly wise, woe, must be bad, right,
worldly wise man steered the pilgrim wrong,
did who lie
did you think,
Bunyan or his shepherd. Me, too.

So, this state, systematized reasoning,
at war with war as twisted by pride,

At the father of the clade level,
see a ceegeed crystal vector,
down to the reason we have
seasons, phases time uses,
made to arrange recognition,

cognosis activated, google eyes, and
chameleon's mind's eyes,
bi-vectoral focus, you know,…
Tesla cars focus eight ways at once,
and, as things become simpler outside

old lies living in meta, get it, metaphors
from when phors were conex boxes,
with no radios in them, now
-stacks of those, reflection rays,
Mars red rusting iron toes,
become red clay mud
each drop must find a mean free way
to reach the sea, as me, in the course
of human events,
game-ified,
imagine the maze, thinking wind feng shui
sweep currents grinding the coast
of California, all the way to Baja,
through all those laden ships
rust buckets in the mind,
dystopified.
Disney ifity broke with reality.

We became Dirac's Defenders of the Unimind.
In a loop…
ha, here are we, this idea in a mind, that
took Jesus this serious. Let this mind be

free in you, think that for fifty years,
what can one imagine a we could do, if a we
could agree to do,
harm to harmony, oh, scheiz, bleu meanies

Christmas and Mythras- fine,
sift it through the inter net rest
of the story,

set the stage, Paul Harvey,
fifteen minutes of keen interest,
with punch, like a moral, in a fable.

When mending is a traveler's certain
chore, mending needs be made a must.

We must know the making of a thread.
First, must know to test for best,
those thus sorted spin,
and worst, we lead to learn to knead
dough, or rend fat, or dip candles,
- ai organzized hell, unionized the creatives
- aha
on learning the art pleased to greet you, be as
I watched you learn to read, and loved
your first read aloud word being nekkid.
Naked truth said so.
Nue kidding U set us up, we are the we,
ai ai ai we bend around mountains,
when any flood gives us a chance,

Think Snow, remember that?
The Baptists hire actual Semites,
to claim finding the long lost right
evaluator tools for forging fortunes from
war, with good reason,
utter compliance,
submit or burn,
ashes to ashes,

jarring revelation backwards, take the veil off.

We think we may imagine being creatures,
in some form, information being creative, per
séance rights,
just listen, convincing is the game, invincibility
anonymous
tip to the point, we agree
what if we could imagine doing any thing once
perfectly, each next time, tics just right,

we fell in a pile of Nineties retro right-ons,
as Netscape went public, and Josten's,
of Yearbook treasure famed archives,
and the first action magic trading rings, proven
money making methods, with no competition,
- wear my ring, around your neck
- but remember, a diamond is forever
- dust to dust
nothing left to prove, the model works forever.
As long as citizens are formed under the law.
As foretold, in the future the law rules, and
we all obey, or face grave danger of sudden

cut-off, no mas juice, electrolytically dry, as bones,
and cut in, the vision, taken from context to context
in words droned emotionlessly as comforting buzz.
Sometimes Starr Sep 2018
Mathematics.

We were two great rocks in outer space,
With music rising as we gave each other
Some kind of hopeful horizon.

Fate gave us an interplay,
Collision and coitus
And now, in my head, these two rocks silently crash
They will orbit each other and dance for a while

An aside--
Then, we were not rocks in space
But motley creatures roving woodland surreal
Mystic animals in the bricks and steel

But where was the mad apothecary with the faithful apprentice,
Hiding secret poison under a tattered cloak?

I know they're out there now,
Ending their rendezvous emotionlessly
And only given emotion by a distant poet
Flirting with an idea,
A something called romance.

A rather silly thing, really.
(Just think of the etymology)

And it is in this way that we were reduced to mathematics
That we became two great--
Two rocks of space
Only still
I feel sad sometimes when i think of you
Going into that great distance.

Where are you now?
What are you doing, and
Do you still think of me?

I still have that mark you left on my silent surface--
It looks nice in the starlight,
And I know you still have yours
Until the whole mind and mess is dissolved
And the pages decay in the soils of time.

— The End —