In a sea of hell-fire and friction.
Kasey Shores
Kasey Shores
Apr 22, 2014

It's hard to be a hopeless romantic
In a sea of hell-fire and friction.
Maybe I'm in the wrong place.

Friction burns
Mar 8, 2012

Friction burns

caused by thoughts of you

and tight jeans.

From the Friction
Jun 12, 2014

I am far
Far is a Good Place
From the Friction
of words
of views
of opinions
of faith
of our hearts
of our souls

Not passion, the friction of teenagers,

What moves me now.
Not passion, the friction of teenagers,
Nothing to it but lost heat,

Nor devotion,
To what- a cause, a fraternity, the truth,
There is no nun left in me.

Bravery, bah, today all is self,
Life lived off a wink and a pocket mirror,
Courage now a modern lust,
Played on screens and handheld things.

None of it has grip or time,
Now only forgiveness has her hand on mine,
Beg for me she whisper kisses,
Teases, taunts and reminisces.

The time you struck your Son,
Hard, in fury, a black blood stain
Beg the dead boy once again,
Offer him one final chance
To billow out his heart and reattach.

Your Grandfather, hanging from the thick barn beam
Seven children none a teen,
Pauper’s morning porridge on their cheeks
Swinging back and forth, the rafter squeaks,
Was he wanted, wicked, or was he weak.

A hated mother, she cut him down,
Left her with a Mobius frown,
And all her pain she saved for you,
Isn't that what mothers are supposed to do.

Ask them all it’s not too late
Come sit as one on your final bed,
Round you gather all your dead,
Damp the stingy tears you've shed,
Beg forgiveness for the life you've led.

#trust   #sex   #marbles  
Dec 31, 2010

How cruel is the thunder that woke me from my dreamless sleep.
I've longed for that luxury so many nights more.
I think we've finally arrived at fighting now,
A sort of anger we've not yet experienced before.

Stupid? Yes.
Stubborn? True.
You can fight me on it all night long, dear,
Because I love to fight the way we do.

And on trajectories like these only friction is holy
Tyler King
Tyler King
Dec 23, 2014

Dragged out screaming, senseless from the hallows of martyrdom
My father's mother's wayward brother
Baptized in propaganda and searing lead
Kamikaze death machine to paranoia fever dream
A noble experiment in utter catastrophe
Half measure, interstellar tourniquet
Stem the free flow of blood like inconvenient statistical evidence
Dripping down born-again virgin America's chin
Vector-like, everything explodes outwards
And on trajectories like these only friction is holy
Murphy's law in ecstatic altercation
A furious life lived under an anachronistic magnifying glass
Truly the only thing worth decaying for

Friction sends us the fire
David Moule
Sep 19, 2010

How deeply the lie was conceived
in a gospel of faith and ignorance
How easily the people were deceived
to separate through intolerance

Truth is powering the commotion
A hunger reminds the desire
Reaction is empowering the emotion
Friction sends us the fire
Who will burn their skin
Lying on life’s beach
Who will turn within
and practice what they preach
Who will feed the flames
Who decides the names
They have a book…
the ghost-writer’s lied
Concealed in symbols
Hidden in signs
Revealed in geometry
and between the lines
In passages
are messages
In shape
In colour
In sound
“Man, Gnow Thyself”
so ‘Self’ is found

Who can see
beyond the distractions
What will be
the cost of our inactions
Annihilation of the Way
Co-creation every day

© Verso-(David Moule) 16/01/08

Apr 28, 2014

You had torrents and storms in your hair
Grey dewy eyes that whipped windy stares
And at the beginning I didn’t feel the cold weather you brought around with you.

you flickered like the hesitant cheap matchstick
That resides in between the fingers of the adolescent that doesn’t yet understand

Caused by two opposing forces for a reason
For an end product, to commit treason
But not according to your abundant manual of
Do’s and don’ts that mention in the title you’re exempt

under the weight of  so much paper thin equality
chapters damp with words that stank of expectations
I found a home under the printed lines of I love you, the running ink dousing me with a blackened perspective on what it was you really wanted for me

To give but not receive
to be free to talk but not to breathe
but everyone knows
you require both to form a voice

and without that

my fingers would slowly snap to the beat that my bones would crack
To the rhythm of your whiplash tongue
Which would flush waves against the shores that were my shrinking figure
The small women you requested at the doorstep of our relationship
Has finally shrunk to fit through the keyhole

in the shape of your accessory

                            Which is obviously necessary to put up with me.

ife doesn’t exist. There’s so much less friction that way.
rachel g
rachel g
Nov 27, 2012

          It’s funny to think about how messed up a family can be. Everything’s just a big facade--we all pull ourselves together to cover up the cracks. But if you really look, you can see how stretched thin we are. No one wants to reveal the shadows, the burns. But there’s so much anger. We are so taut, ripping at the seams as we yank ourselves into place, as we force back the emotions that beat at the bars.

         There are reasons why we have our distractions. There are reasons why we sleep, why we eat, why we read, why we watch endless hours of shitty sitcoms. We don’t want reality. We don’t want the pain of confrontation, whether it be with ourselves or with another person. We live in a fuzzy world of bliss, with the third-party privilege of being at a distance. It’s nice to imagine, for a little while, that your life doesn’t exist. There’s so much less friction that way.

The friction between the two
Guardian Angel
Guardian Angel
Aug 6, 2014

This is not a family.

This is the aftermath
Of a mass collision
When two whole circles
And fit each other.

Because two round edges
Can never fit together,
They chip at each other,
Year after year.
The little bits and pieces that fall off,
The remains of the constant collision,
They gather in a little mound.

This is the child.

The friction between the two
Forms a being so strange,
It's not even a
Recognised geometrical shape.
It is no polygon like the rest
Because it
Has no sides.
Others say this lump of being is
Special and

But the lump knows
— it's just lonely.

It grows larger
Every year,
Just growing by
The number of
Broken shards.
It knows that one day
It'll just stop growing
Because the two circles,
Once so full of themselves,
Will finally smoothen it out
And fit together.
When that happens,
The lump will also become
Irrelevant and


A lump cannot really move.
Not like a square
That can roll like a die.
Not like a triangle
That spins like a top.
Not like a
That can roll like a wheel.

No, a lump is a lump is a lump.

It cannot move.
And will stay there
For eternity,
Under the big black shadows of
Two collided circles.

But we aren't so far ahead yet.

At this point,
We're still

The circles roll against each other. Smoothening out.
A circle would roll over the lump
By accident.
Squishing it.
Almost killing it.

Almost smothering me.

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