I dont feel your words
Not like a slap, or a sting
Not unless its fucking me
In the brain
Reminding me what you lost
When you were scared
I tried to explain
That I care, that I cared
Only now I regret it
I wish to take it back
I miss the smell of your skin
The taste of your lips
But not your slap
Or the harsh grab of my wrist
Your hands in my face
Lips in the wrong place
I miss the way your skin smells
Like adrenaline and old Hollister cologne
But not the sweat of exasperation
From giving me elaborate explanation
"I didn't mean to hit you so hard.."
But I haven't been here to care
"Did I give you that scar?"
Back then you didn't care
"Who the fuck have you told?"
They haven't been here to care
"I'll still love you when you're old."
We both know you won't be here to care.
Why must they beg, make me want to kill them?
Down on their knees, and I am the villian?
They are weak, scum, shit beneath my boot.
A .45 from my backside, I point. Shoot.
My inner demon cackles, her eery whisper no more.
And I cry out, dropping to the blood covered floor.
Eyes wide, twinkling with wetness, I look at what I have done.
Did I... did I really just have fun?
I want to scoop the poor girl up, go outside and run.
I want save your life, but it was my gun.
I still have yet to move a muscle, my mind is reeling.
Tell me what is real, what the fuck am I feeling?
Someone else is in control as I pick myself up,
Is that you? yup.
I'm tripping over my own feet
As I run like I've been beat.
Fucking never ending hallway
I scream for my NIGHTMARE TO GO AWAY
But she has me in her arms, alive or not
I remove my .45, point it at my brain..
take one last shot.
I think I've been sitting in front of plasma screens for way too long
Because I feel a carcinoma in the back of my head
Oh, and I guess I bleached my brain out
Because my laptop feels like a tanning bed sometimes
I can't help but notice all these living room nomads
With faces pasted to the television
Growing remote controls out of the back of their skulls...
I reached my hand to feel the back of my scalp
And just found my own sweat.
Dowsing shiver your hybrid morality until there stand no more alabaster temples on the hills of our nations. Erupt fantasy and realize fate. Find a lost camera and hang someone else's pictures all throughout your house.
The Golden Riddle of justice is a fishbone; it's arc bends eventually to the point that it slits your throat. Carbon fiber courage swallows blood though.
Mary goes merry 'round
gardens of rose and asters,
picking weeds and grinding teeth;
talking to the jesters,
who make friends with her
when she lifts her skirt
whilst dosed by ivory suited creatures!
Mary has flesh to burn;
scarred lines from corrupt emotions
start the show of peeking mirrors
where she has fondly writ upon
by flame in wicked fashion,
the exits of her dark asylum
which bled the hearts of dead friends!
Mary ambled to a moonlit pane
with a webbed brain rent with swells,
requesting peace from Woden.
Removing fate from Earthly spells
to free her feet and back of welts,
she took last breath
'neath the star curtain's shell
to fly out the glass, pierced atop a gate,
where Mary joined her friends in Hell!!!
Everything is all the same.
In a crowd of red spots, there are no blue squares.
The same Sun rises in the East every damn morning,
And the same Moon sits in the same damn sky among billions of stars.
One man looks and acts the same as the next,
Just as one woman looks and acts the same as the next...
There is nothing special that happens in society.
The same stories haunt the media.
A man rapes a woman.
A woman abuses her children.
Someone tries to smuggle an alligator out of Florida,
And a moose crosses a Minnesota highway...
I myself walk the same streets
Over and over and over again...
Go to work,
WHY are the creative juices in my brain no longer flowing?
WHEN did my river run dry?
HOW can I get the juices to race and course through my veins once more?
No Inspiration at all...
Your life is just a work of art
A masterpiece painted
By some big brain
With double-folding sentience?
Do you ever consider
The beauty of the detail(s)?
What if that weird coincidence
That happened today
Really wasn't a coincidence at all?
What if there are no coincidences?
What if when we go to sleep
Our brainwaves change
Because our minds go elsewhere
And it's best we just forget
When we wake?
What if reincarnation is real
And just at a universal scale?
What if life didn't originate on Earth?
What if there's something huge about
That we don't yet understand?
What if everything is a computer simulation
And everything above the first dimension
Is just a folded-up illusion?
What if we're not the only ones out there?
What if one time
At some random point
Along your vision's axis
You stared right at a planet
That harbored life?
Or even a star system?
What if religion and science collapsed in
On each other?
And what does this whole Eye business
What if the multiverse
Is more connected
Than we ever imagined?
What if God is a number? (a chuckle)
What if God is all the numbers
And combinations of them
And possible functions
And every algorithm
Every discordance and solution?
What if fate and free will
Don't really hate each other,
And it's just a game they play?
What if, just as we imagine characters,
Scenes and fiction
And paint them with words, sounds, and pigments
Our lives and interactions
Are painted by some society of higher beings,
In some fractalesque twist?
What if perception and emotional value
Are just the icing on the cake
And they are what makes life more
Than numbers and figures?
What if art
Is more than human?
What if the magical spells we once dreamed of
Have become our reality-
Songs, pictures, symbols flashed on the TV...
What if it really is like good guys vs. bad guys
And it's all just whispered above your head
Just within earshot?
What if it's not so black and white
And our only true villain
Is the stupidity of the mob?
What if it's somewhere between
Like it usually is?
What if we were always happy
Or always sad?
Would there really be a difference?
What if you could escape the circular nature
What would you see, looking down?
What if every system is circular
Because they're all gears
In some big surreal machine?
What if you're dreaming?
Nope, still here.
What if you're not dreaming at all
And it's really just that strange?
What if everything that could happen
And you are only allowed to see one of each?
What if the laws of physics
Are only so set in stone
In this universe
But there are others that vary?
What if the speed of light
Is the universal speed of time?
What if I'm actually dead
And this is just a virtual world
And I'm living through a computer?
What if reality is a very complicated computation?
What if I woke up as someone else tomorrow morning?
Would I even realize it?
What if one of my poems caused two people to meet
and fall in love? that'd be cool
What if one of my poems accidentally somehow set off
A chain of events that killed someone? that's weird and sad
What if gravity were as strong as magnetism
Or the other forces?
We'd surely have no planes
And getting up in the morning would suck even more
What if for once you were grateful and happy to wake up in the morning?
Ooh, got you with a tinge of guilt din't I?
What if the whole thing was a joke and no one likes getting up after a nice rest?
What if looks didn't affect judgment so much?
What if this is your very last breath?
If so, look out-
What if my imagination didn't have a bottom?
What if the act of believing in something
Made it true?
What if my red was your blue?
What if you could see tenfold more colors then most humans
Because you had an extra type of cone in your gene code?
What if the very fundamentals of science you were taught in school
Were mass-spread so no one could know how strange the universe really is?
What if the moon landing was fake?
What if conspiracies don't really affect you that much in the end?
What if there was an underlying pattern of questions and statements
Following a free-flowing logical train here?
What if it just crashed?
What if when the light went off on your webcam
That didn't mean it was inactive?
What if you had something to hide?
What if they're out to get you?
What if they're everywhere?
What if it's way over your head
And it's time to get out of the house?
What if Uncle Ben never got shot?
What if Tony Stark is just a friggen' badass genius dude wonder?
What if some levity never hurt anyone, but what if it did?
What if some guy was telling a joke, not paying attention
And he fell and broke his left arm?
I bet it's happened on numerous occasions.
And statistically, probably more if you change it to 'right'!
What if you didn't help that old lady cross the street?
What if the old lady never crossed the street
And she just sat there forever like a lost puppy
Doesn't it just make you want to cry?
What if you were sitting on that thing you're looking for the whole time?
What if your life is a TV show
It's all staged, Truman!
What if I'm not real
And a secret artificial intelligence project
Wrote this to test how convincing it is?
I promise I'm not but you have no way of knowing!
What if some of you start to suspect me of being a robot?
What if in some ironic twist of fate that made someone crazy obsessive about it
And writing it led to my very death?
What if I'm just here for the ride
And I don't have time to worry about things like that?
My eyes are getting heavy...
As much as they tell me
I need to focus.
I need to concentrate...
And leave the la-la-land dreamscape
Of my head,
I'm proud to even
I m a g i n e.
I will start with a hello.
A handshake, an introduction, a beginning.
Then it will grow,
from an exchange of names
to playing mind games and discussing our fames.
You've always been the talker,
the initiator, the instigator.
And I; the listener, the adviser and friend
to give you a silent prod in the right direction
when the sidewalk comes to an end.
I take no form; no shape, no size.
I'm not the truth, nor the lies.
I am not a human, or a living creature.
I have no body parts, or any features.
But I can think, sure I can.
And I can act as any other man.
The reason why I still exist
is not meant to be a mystery
buried deep inside your inner abyss.
In fact, it lingers right in front of you
and dances before your eyes.
It isn't meant to be shocking news;
or an unforeseen surprise.
Even if you can't see me,
I'm always here as company;
the guest that never leaves.
And even if I wanted
to pick up my shoes,
get up and move,
my nonexistent feet
would stop me in my tracks
and I'd be heading back to your street
fast, fast, fast.
I'd be back before the count of two;
and if you wonder why,
ask yourself this:
why is it that we've never parted,
or even said goodbye?
Here is my answer to you:
We are bonded together by super glue,
joined by the brain, the heart and soul, too.
If that sounds confusing, I'll give you another clue;
you live in me, just like I live in you.
I am poetry;
metaphors and similes,
dotted i's and crossed t's.
So fill my cup with the wine of your words,
swallow me whole and be free as the birds
flying through the endless sky
as clouds and airplanes pass you by.
Stanzas and rhymes will flow down your throat
like that of a current, which carries a boat
and takes it to its destination;
the end goal, the aspiration.
They'll travel down with ballads marked in cursive,
with scribbled sonnets and haikus and verses.
Then when they finally reach the heart,
you'll know that it's no longer just words but art.
Because your poems are colours that brighten the walls
by splashing blank canvases and bathroom stalls.
I am poetry;
the pencil and the paper.
But you are the hand, the thinker, the maker.
So paint the world a picture
through your beautiful literature
because your words are your wand
so show us the magic and create the bond
between the fixed and the broken,
the sleeping and the woken,
the written and the spoken.
Pick me up and let me scrawl
down your words and then install
them into the minds of everyone
and they'll be stunned by the
brightness of your sun.
You'll shine with radiance and glory
so keep on telling your story
because your words are your life,
your victories and your strife.
You are the creator, the teacher, the reverend;
but this time, I will subside
because you are the guide,
and your words are your legend.
I'm just coasting.
For when life brings trouble.
Watch me float away.
I have no struggle.
I drowned in a sea of red paint
And fell through the thick liquid
Only to find you waiting
On the floor of crushed class
At the bottom of the sea
I saw artists dead and limp
Floating through the tainted waters
Veins full of clay
My limbs were too heavy
To try and swim back up
And you called to me
I could hear your echoed cries
Bouncing between broken sea shells
And my clay filled brain
This is the art you will never make
These are the lives you will never live
And i am not a man who could ever love you back
And the sea was blue once again
Writing poems on my phone because i cannot sleep <