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UriahHeep
"You speak to me of narcissism but I reply that it is a matter of my life" - Artaud "At this time let me somehow bequeath all the leftovers to my daughters and their daughters" - Anonymous Better, despite the worms talking to the mare's hoof in the field; better, despite the season of young girls dropping their blood; better somehow to drop myself quickly into an old room. Better (someone said) not to be born and far better not to be born twice at thirteen where the boardinghouse, each year a bedroom, caught fire. Dear friend, I will have to sink with hundreds of others on a dumbwaiter into hell. I will be a light thing. I will enter death like someone's lost optical lens. Life is half enlarged. The fish and owls are fierce today. Life tilts backward and forward. Even the wasps cannot find my eyes. Yes, eyes that were immediate once. Eyes that have been truly awake, eyes that told the whole story- poor dumb animals. Eyes that were pierced, little nail heads, light blue gunshots. And once with a mouth like a cup, clay colored or blood colored, open like the breakwater for the lost ocean and open like the noose for the first head. Once upon a time my hunger was for Jesus. O my hunger! My hunger! Before he grew old he rode calmly into Jerusalem in search of death. This time I certainly do not ask for understanding and yet I hope everyone else will turn their heads when an unrehearsed fish jumps on the surface of Echo Lake; when moonlight, its bass note turned up loud, hurts some building in Boston, when the truly beautiful lie together. I think of this, surely, and would think of it far longer if I were not... if I were not at that old fire. I could admit that I am only a coward crying me me me and not mention the little gnats, the moths, forced by circumstance to **** on the electric bulb. But surely you know that everyone has a death, his own death, waiting for him. So I will go now without old age or disease, wildly but accurately, knowing my best route, carried by that toy donkey I rode all these years, never asking, "Where are we going?" We were riding (if I'd only known) to this. Dear friend, please do not think that I visualize guitars playing or my father arching his bone. I do not even expect my mother's mouth. I know that I have died before- once in November, once in June. How strange to choose June again, so concrete with its green ******* and bellies. Of course guitars will not play! The snakes will certainly not notice. New York City will not mind. At night the bats will beat on the trees, knowing it all, seeing what they sensed all day.
0
Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 4:54 PM UTC
Suicide Note
"You speak to me of narcissism but I reply that it is a matter of my life" - Artaud "At this time let me somehow bequeath all the leftovers to my daughters and their daughters" - Anonymous Better, despite the worms talking to the mare's hoof in the field; better, despite the season of young girls dropping their blood; better somehow to drop myself quickly into an old room. Better (someone said) not to be born and far better not to be born twice at thirteen where the boardinghouse, each year a bedroom, caught fire. Dear friend, I will have to sink with hundreds of others on a dumbwaiter into hell. I will be a light thing. I will enter death like someone's lost optical lens. Life is half enlarged. The fish and owls are fierce today. Life tilts backward and forward. Even the wasps cannot find my eyes. Yes, eyes that were immediate once. Eyes that have been truly awake, eyes that told the whole story- poor dumb animals. Eyes that were pierced, little nail heads, light blue gunshots. And once with a mouth like a cup, clay colored or blood colored, open like the breakwater for the lost ocean and open like the noose for the first head. Once upon a time my hunger was for Jesus. O my hunger! My hunger! Before he grew old he rode calmly into Jerusalem in search of death. This time I certainly do not ask for understanding and yet I hope everyone else will turn their heads when an unrehearsed fish jumps on the surface of Echo Lake; when moonlight, its bass note turned up loud, hurts some building in Boston, when the truly beautiful lie together. I think of this, surely, and would think of it far longer if I were not... if I were not at that old fire. I could admit that I am only a coward crying me me me and not mention the little gnats, the moths, forced by circumstance to **** on the electric bulb. But surely you know that everyone has a death, his own death, waiting for him. So I will go now without old age or disease, wildly but accurately, knowing my best route, carried by that toy donkey I rode all these years, never asking, "Where are we going?" We were riding (if I'd only known) to this. Dear friend, please do not think that I visualize guitars playing or my father arching his bone. I do not even expect my mother's mouth. I know that I have died before- once in November, once in June. How strange to choose June again, so concrete with its green ******* and bellies. Of course guitars will not play! The snakes will certainly not notice. New York City will not mind. At night the bats will beat on the trees, knowing it all, seeing what they sensed all day.
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98
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours, full of white shirts and salad greens, the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks, and I wore movies in my eyes, and you wore eggs in your tunnel, and we played sheets, sheets, sheets all day, even in the bathtub like lunatics. But today I set the bed afire and smoke is filling the room, it is getting hot enough for the walls to melt, and the icebox, a gluey white tooth. I have on a mask in order to write my last words, and they are just for you, and I will place them in the icebox saved for ***** and tomatoes, and perhaps they will last. The dog will not. Her spots will fall off. The old letters will melt into a black bee. The night gowns are already shredding into paper, the yellow, the red, the purple. The bed -- well, the sheets have turned to gold -- hard, hard gold, and the mattress is being kissed into a stone. As for me, my dearest Foxxy, my poems to you may or may not reach the icebox and its hopeful eternity, for isn't yours enough? The one where you name my name right out in P.R.? If my toes weren't yielding to pitch I'd tell the whole story -- not just the sheet story but the belly-button story, the pried-eyelid story, the whiskey-sour-of-the-nipple story -- and shovel back our love where it belonged. Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black and a red powder seeps through my veins, our little crate goes down so publicly and without meaning it, you see, meaning a solo act, a cremation of the love, but instead we seem to be going down right in the middle of a Russian street, the flames making the sound of the horse being beaten and beaten, the whip is adoring its human triumph while the flies wait, blow by blow, straight from United Fruit, Inc.
0
Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
Love Letter Written In A Burning Building
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours, full of white shirts and salad greens, the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks, and I wore movies in my eyes, and you wore eggs in your tunnel, and we played sheets, sheets, sheets all day, even in the bathtub like lunatics. But today I set the bed afire and smoke is filling the room, it is getting hot enough for the walls to melt, and the icebox, a gluey white tooth. I have on a mask in order to write my last words, and they are just for you, and I will place them in the icebox saved for ***** and tomatoes, and perhaps they will last. The dog will not. Her spots will fall off. The old letters will melt into a black bee. The night gowns are already shredding into paper, the yellow, the red, the purple. The bed -- well, the sheets have turned to gold -- hard, hard gold, and the mattress is being kissed into a stone. As for me, my dearest Foxxy, my poems to you may or may not reach the icebox and its hopeful eternity, for isn't yours enough? The one where you name my name right out in P.R.? If my toes weren't yielding to pitch I'd tell the whole story -- not just the sheet story but the belly-button story, the pried-eyelid story, the whiskey-sour-of-the-nipple story -- and shovel back our love where it belonged. Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black and a red powder seeps through my veins, our little crate goes down so publicly and without meaning it, you see, meaning a solo act, a cremation of the love, but instead we seem to be going down right in the middle of a Russian street, the flames making the sound of the horse being beaten and beaten, the whip is adoring its human triumph while the flies wait, blow by blow, straight from United Fruit, Inc.
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48
it's actually pretty easy done and you know how to do it perfectly you know how to make me cry and for you , it's easily done so I guess now i'm happy we didn't get to talk about the people we don't love cause how am i supposed to name yourself ? and it's pretty easy for you to make me smile though you always chose the other easier option on purpose , of course ,Cristal clear but i still don't get it why
0
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 4:57 PM UTC
Untitled
I miss the old days, the old looks , the old ways I even miss the uncertain state of our "mays" I miss it when you were there to stay it's still the same I guess, nothing has changed you roll your eyes the same way you did before though it doesn't feel the same anymore you will never know how it killed me the whole time there thinking about you with your soul far and your body near and to pretend I haven't seen what I saw because I don't want to believe I don't care to you and much as I thought as much as I do care for you just a little as much as I deserve it all means nothing to you when you pass me by, indifferent it all means nothing to you, never meant , never will so I thought about you again in pain, thinking " is this gonna be the last time ?" I wish it is.
0
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 5:39 AM UTC
what it is
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on that sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
0
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 4:37 PM UTC
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
it’s sad to say that nowadays a smile is more often used to hide depression rather than express happiness.
0
Jun 29, 2025
Jun 29, 2025 at 10:58 AM UTC
smile
nothing much done, another deadly Sunday afternoon, as always expected. sometimes I think it's these boring Sunday afternoons which takes me to the end. not yet, but surely sometime not far away, when the sun shines and for life, people pray. I look it over as I always do, something this time makes it feel new. though I miss you and wish you were here by my side I can't deny I feel good not to have you on my sight. so I guess it's again, how it always used to be until maybe some Sunday afternoon, I'll make myself free. you don't know what I mean.
0
Jun 29, 2025
Jun 29, 2025 at 10:35 AM UTC
Ordinary Day
I write your name proudly on the top of the letter as I'm writing the name of a hero you left with the thought that things ain't gonna get better now I collect your notes and your pictures from your bureau June , 13 , I will always regret I could have hugged you tighter your time hasn't come yet you will always be a fighter
0
Jun 16, 2025
Jun 16, 2025 at 6:00 AM UTC
to my missing father
I danced with the devil, I danced all night He took my hand, for a while held me tight I kissed the devil, I had me in his sight I worshiped the devil, everything felt alright He wrapped his arms round my waist He kissed me , it was the sweetest taste Someone knocked on the door, devil roared His clock on my shoulder, my shadow he chased I fell in devil's arms , he looked into my eyes "I love you truly though I'm the master of the lies" Tonight devil fooled me , he made me laugh , I cried I worshiped the holy devil, the devil was the wise "I'll get you in the darkness , I'll show you what to see I'll get you where you want to , the place you want to be You choose to leave or love me , you choose where to stay I'll let you in or tell you out , you see, I let you free" I took the devil's hand ,  fully obeyed his rule I kissed the devil hard, blinded I'm the fool I looked into his eyes, a total lover's sight We loved each other truly, the night was cruel I never saw the morning, I was trapped in that night Devil loved me truly, his loved I almost denied Devil may now hate me , or look for me in the dark My soul lost and my body wanders , I fell off devil's height To you I write , dear devil, I love you darling still I love you deeply baby, and that's all I can feel I left you, I'm so sorry , I though you didn't mind You now may try to find me , but my soul will never heal I wish to see you once more, even if it's in a dream I wish to feel the cool breeze once more upon your hill I'll post this to the darkness, the place you took me the night I'll follow the postbirds, to find my lover's sight
0
Mar 23, 2025
Mar 23, 2025 at 4:31 AM UTC
I chased the devil
I danced with the devil, I danced all night He took my hand, for a while held me tight I kissed the devil, I had me in his sight I worshiped the devil, everything felt alright He wrapped his arms round my waist He kissed me , it was the sweetest taste Someone knocked on the door, devil roared His clock on my shoulder, my shadow he chased I fell in devil's arms , he looked into my eyes "I love you truly though I'm the master of the lies" Tonight devil fooled me , he made me laugh , I cried I worshiped the holy devil, the devil was the wise "I'll get you in the darkness , I'll show you what to see I'll get you where you want to , the place you want to be You choose to leave or love me , you choose where to stay I'll let you in or tell you out , you see, I let you free" I took the devil's hand ,  fully obeyed his rule I kissed the devil hard, blinded I'm the fool I looked into his eyes, a total lover's sight We loved each other truly, the night was cruel I never saw the morning, I was trapped in that night Devil loved me truly, his loved I almost denied Devil may now hate me , or look for me in the dark My soul lost and my body wanders , I fell off devil's height To you I write , dear devil, I love you darling still I love you deeply baby, and that's all I can feel I left you, I'm so sorry , I though you didn't mind You now may try to find me , but my soul will never heal I wish to see you once more, even if it's in a dream I wish to feel the cool breeze once more upon your hill I'll post this to the darkness, the place you took me the night I'll follow the postbirds, to find my lover's sight
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32
If I have been untrue I hope you know it was never to you For I have made myself a something you would love So if you want a lover I'll do anything you ask me to do And if you love another kind I'll wear a mask for you If you want someone to walk by On a snowy sunday afternoon You know you can take my hand And if you want a place to be For long you have owned my land And if you ever want to leave For the day, I have digged my own grave And if you choose to stay Then I admit you have been brave For no one loves a silhouette With an unraveling mask And if you'll love me baby You've done the hardest task So let me drown myself Inside the black hole of your eyes The gravity is pulling me And I'm tired of all my lies And if I break into tears Just go and leave me, don't you try Your eyes are filled with sorrow It's too soon to say goodbye
0
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 11:01 AM UTC
Silhouette