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Clay Face Jan 29
Call me what you will.
I know what I am.
She says I’m cute,
while she builds with sand.

Red haired angel I’ll never smell.
Intimate relation to be withheld.

On her knees but not low,
Her hands cup that beige snow.
If I could spill my insides out,
I could paint it all red and yellow.

She deals in truth,
And sells lies.
But she did want me
Between her thighs.

Oh what a pleasure to pleasure.
I’d give anything to set her beauty off.
If only things were different,
Without this novel cough.

Might happen, I’m stupid.
What buffoon could swoon in.
She’s perched a top.
Between dragons breath and stairs.

To wish it was a fool.
To believe it was a fool.

I have more of any noun than sense.
Feb 2022 · 1.8k
Not Tonight
Clay Face Feb 2022
It’s another day, the sun’s left a twisted mess of vigor-less dreams and wishes faintly seen.

I’d lay down and cry if I saw any meaning to anything, but UV bleaches my guts and everything.

By now you would’ve realized, the sort of world, cruel and curious, we seek to sow.

But how can anyone walk around stating what they know?

And the pain seeps cold at night.
Aspirations, lies I hold tight.
Maybe not tonight.

Days bleed by, numb and opaque it heeds and blinds.

The pain seeps cold at night.
Aspirations, dreams I hold tight.
Not tonight.
Not tonight.
Feb 2022 · 1.5k
Far Away
Clay Face Feb 2022
This time please don’t feel sad.
I’ve tried to fade away.
Stretch thin to reach me.
Gone un-scratched for an eon.
As a breath on a death bed.
Can’t be savored for too long.

It’d feel nice to know who I am.
I’m pressed to find a way.
Dressed in his slime and his slop.
It’d feel good to know who I’m not.
Bottle up and conceal.

It’s all moved away this time.
I can feel.
No Fawkes whisper to reveal.
It’s all been changed.
But for me.
I feel the same.

I’m broken and poured.
All vivid, but defamed.
The color I had in my fingers.
Is distant on a tether.
I just coil it back in.
Before I grow numb in taste.
Dec 2021 · 1.1k
Message From the Sepulcher
Clay Face Dec 2021
The pillow’s creased, and coffee cold.
Drops on the window, you seek console.
I’m not there to comfort, or elucidate.
We share a glance, although you may not know.

All the time you were beside me.
Continues to tomorrow and today.
Dissolution and irreverence cloud you.
But I beckon for a light to shine.
Just know I miss you.
You’re never absent in my mind.

Dig yourself a hole, pitiful and abysmal.
I can’t see you when you hide behind my sepulchral existence.
I pine to see you alive once again.
Life seems equivocal and anachronistic.
Anger swoons.
Please don’t tumble into rash being.
I cannot stand to see you apathetic, not tending to your wounds.

Someday you’ll find me.
My eyes in another.
Please let me hold you.
I’ve come so far to be here to solace.
Don’t question my new frame or figure.
Just accept the love I trudged with vigor.
Dec 2021 · 1.7k
It Removes Me
Clay Face Dec 2021
It depletes me.
Turn, turn around.
And complete me.

I, lost all control.
And this sense of lament is visceral.
I bleed, from the outside.
Numb death, turning, becoming inside.

Just need one thing.
A child’s toy, nostalgic and stuffed.
A somnambulant hymn.
To remove me.
Disassociate, please.

Your hand is soft.
Placed places that comfort.
I miss your scent, that congeals.
I wish I didn’t have to feel nothing.
Emptiness is so guttural and potent.

I can’t help but see.
Everything slip by.
Nov 2021 · 978
Butterfly Massacre
Clay Face Nov 2021
The time numbs. I want it raw like it was.
Like ******* and ******.
Something powerful and honest.

I let lies continue.
Fantasies I tease myself with.
I never follow these potential trails.
I’m terrified of not having blissful reverie.
Closure haunts me. I’m scared of definition.

I live in a time that never ends.
I breath the exhaust we know but cannot see.
The world spins upon my shoulders, I pass it on without using my hands.
People die, it’s distant.
Life doesn’t mean much.

I live here in a puddle.
I love all the potential I have to waste.
I don’t know what I would slobber on without it.

I want something raw.
Something abrasive, without some sort of superficial veil.
If I brush back another thin facade just to uncover a clearer image of *******.
I’ll slump the world with my bear hands, and whatever blunt object is abreast.
The ensuing postlude or coattail if you will, is gruesome and redefines the word genocide.

Life passes by because it’s not cut with iron anymore. It’s chiseled away with fantastic stone and underlying hopeful chimes of music. A method to which leaves reality unclear, and insipid. Quite literally dull and un-vitriolic.

The time jingoes tore babies from teats, bounced sore bosoms, and buried John Doe’s in mass graves beside schools. Is long gone.

I live in a butterfly massacre.
Oct 2021 · 1.8k
Set the Mood, Set Me In
Clay Face Oct 2021
I’m triple smoked.
Inundated in a cloud.
Guda, salmon, and a cigarette.
Lay me down. Come be with me.
Something simple. I need warm skin, nothing put in.
It’s slow now. Even with death in my lips, lungs, and mouth. Violation at my fingertips, comfort at your hips.
This cuddle in mist, as sand slips from ancestral vas. Can’t be more tonic. Not even a clean breath from my stacked haze does compare.
Your presence is softer than a compliment, warmer than a gaze fair.
Your hair on my chest or my head on your breast seal a lair.
We swap the feeding hand.
Weakness is a virtue. A face unmasked in rare.
Among a stage smooth, soft skin, slick like ice, warm like loath.
Sticky with sweat, and with a low foggy stench that creeps in your nose. A familiar one, an intimate one.
A vapor that flames when you care.
This addictive fetor to foe.
Of nicotine, sweat, and lewdness.
Is a muse to you and I.
That cigarette set the mood, and you set me in.
Oct 2021 · 1.6k
Spit Me Out and Cry at Me
Clay Face Oct 2021
I’m nothing coming through.
A ******, a let down.
I’m a plan turned mistake.
I slipped out into a world to be forgotten in it.
Cold, slimy, smelly, and stupid.

I’m the putty they use to fill the gaps of history.
The time between now and when.
A time where something, anything happens.
Walk on me, I’m here to move you on.

It feels as though we’re nearing the end.
Centuries before, fate was branded.
In its burned flesh we made our mark.
It’s come time to slaughter.
But we’ll be the squealers.

I’m coming through into nothing.
A mother abused by her young.
******* dry and sagged from their greed.
Fat, weak, and stupid now from gluttony.
Next winter will bring their snuffing.

So pull me out.
This pink portal.
Into somewhere I belong.
The nowhere we are right now.
The nothing we’re going to be.
Oct 2021 · 1.5k
The Spoon
Clay Face Oct 2021
The Spoon

I’m a spoon.
I turn concoctions
I poor innocence into a caldron of imbibe, *******, and violence.
I’m rusted from acidic negligence.
I burn the hand that Weals me.

When I make her bleed, truth crunches between my mandibles.
It’s cruel and scrumptious. I drool over its potential.
But the sheets don’t touch father sun before I leave.
She cries alone.
I cry alone.

I scoop the unknowing up. I throw them into a world of trouble and confusion.
My tongue passes my name, vowels never remembered.
My lips **** hope and maintain an emotional facade.

I like to push it in.
It hurts and I feel nothing.
But I move on.
Aug 2021 · 987
Murder Machine
Clay Face Aug 2021
I’m sick of watching them squirm on the floor.
But it never ends, I always want more.
Once the feeling seeds,
it’s put on the list of needs.

Is it shameful?
Or is it natural?
I have a needle I can’t get rid of.
It refills itself after each use for free.

It’s plunger is pulled back so easily.
Anything over the course of the day.
Can fill it’s tube with lives.

Can’t help but push it forward.

It ends not so clean,
Because I am ****** Machine.
Mar 2021 · 1.1k
Clay Face Mar 2021

You make me want to get high and end something.

Your childhood shouldn’t be mine.
You apathetic ****.

I know you don’t care.
That’s why it hurts.
You’re father was gone,
Maybe that would be better.
You’re here, but not for me.
You’re just a huge tease.

Without words you flay.
Furl me in a calm.
Just to show what worth you have of me.
I’d rather be whipped.
At least then you’d use me.

Your always at my leash.
If I try to pull you to me.
You’re never at the end.

Endless release of my constant fill.
Never seems to bring benevolence.
Slamming fists, yelling to a burn,
Biting until blood, hurting until bruised.

You’re a tick I can’t rip out.
Burrowed and *****.
I can rip my skin open.
Dig in.
You’d never be found.
I’d amputate your from me.
With a saw, knife, or bullet.
You **** me dry, and never pass a nod.

I can’t scream into another.
Or cry with someone.
They’re nothing to me.
Cause they’re nothing to you.
I have no one.
Monkey see, monkey do.

There’s always something absent.
Turgid and deeply rooted.
It hollows my chest when I feel it.
I’ll never taste it.
Or have the chance to waste it.

Finding someone to abridge.
Is frustratingly crippling.
I sting just thinking about it.
You knee capped me.
I’ll never love.
I’ll never be loved.

You made me meat.
You made everyone meat.
Feb 2021 · 568
Mother May I
Clay Face Feb 2021
Mother may I crawl back inside?
A warm place of nothingness.
A void of remembrance, lack of life.
What future does this path hide?
In isolation and loath for kin, it disgusts me.
We were the spawn of two ruined shells.
Who’s childhood hell could only teach hollowness and disconnect.
I’m sick of being rolled like die.
Like there’s some uncertainty in where we’ll land.
The hand we were cast left an oily darkness no amount of water can wash.
I bounce off life’s surface, and experience things seemingly at random as I fly.
When we stop we will always find one.
Destined to be lonely and hateful like you, and to be confused in the origin of our disposition.
It’s not your fault you lead two souls down the red brick road.
You both thought you could be normal.
Be human.
But you’re nothing, just like he and I.
You both externalized trauma long past, if sympathy ran in the family I’d share some.
We’re all alone, with nothing in common.
I just want the alienation and confusion to end.
The needles that stick in and ******* bend.
Oh ******* please.
Mother may I crawl back and die?
Jan 2021 · 597
Night Rider
Clay Face Jan 2021
I’m the thing in the middle of the street at night.
I’m an alcohol prone cigarette drone.
Roll me up some suicide, I puff it with pride.
I’m what’s feared at night.
I even give myself a fright.
The world takes pictures of me.
A spectacle.
I’m the perfection of failure.
I’m the shadows.
The dismal abyss the world needs.
I’m colder than a robot.
Quieter than a rat.
I’m what you can but can’t see.
I’m cheaper than air and just as useful.
Use me up, ******* away.
I seek love and connection.
A warm place to be.
My disposition cuts connection clean.
I’m the H spoon.
Never washed, always abused.
I’m spread like a disease.
Unwanted, and to be killed.
Eradicate me please.
I’m a ***** injected, loose connected, nicotine aspirated, four cylinder waste machine.
No one cranks me with the hand of desire.
Just in lust of deceit and fire.
I’m thrown away when you’re done with me.
I’m the byproduct of society.
The degradation of sobriety.
I’m the Night Rider.
Nov 2020 · 1.1k
Clay Face Nov 2020
The one who’s behind you is the one you love.
Something else calls you’re name, tickles your ear.
But what happened to the intuition of what was and is so true?
Ticks on your shoulders, did they wait for you?
Left you in corruption, an unsound view.

The trade is so strong, kills your brawn but what can you do? The pain never ends, when no one wins, you can only die in this life. The paper god on your tongue melts you into glue.

It’s agonizing as you bind the world.
Nothing splits you but your pulled by all.
Reality stretches your skin, your mind loses sight and you’re paranoid. It will never end.

And it never ends
And it never ends
And it never ends

A woman evolves from the colors on the wall.
Strange and hairy, lament grows as her fur.
Scintillating messages of life and death they call.
Who am I, and who are you?
I’m speaking in tenses contradictory to a single point of view.
I can hear her scream, as she shaves her pits.
So beautiful it serenades my mind and scars my eyes.

I’ll never have her, and she dissolves into the bars of this cell again. I’m coming down or I’m blasting off, so hard to tell when god digests so well. Release my mind. It will never end.

And it never ends
And it never ends
And it never ends

Pierced skin, stained skin, ripped skin, all over her.
She’s broken and odd, but so close to me, I can’t help but connect.
The cover of her book is blank and new.
Pages are torn and ******, nothing to awe but still novel inside.

It drains me as it’s end never finds an end.
I can’t belong here when I’m rinsed of life and I dry as glue.
Bound and confound I can’t decide what voice to choose.
You’re on the right and I’m on the left, in the middle is me and we are you.
The nurse draws a bath and I am rinsed.
Drooling in comatose they wipe your lip.
Who new god had a price and came in a sheet.
That little square is the key to become like me.
So free from what’s contrived when you can’t decide the difference in truth.

The days go by and the years turn to seconds.
The nurse whispers in our ear, your mother is here and we start to cry. She holds our hand.
And it ends.

And it ends
And it ends

It ends.
Jun 2020 · 348
Clay Face Jun 2020
I love it.
But grow trees to adumbrate it’s anima.

To force a mascaraed upon its glow.
Tarp my elation for it.
It’s guttural.
I feel my definition eave when I do it.

Alien cliques called societal norms.
Make such a scintillating activity, abnormal.
I hurt no one through such a cosmetic lust.
Fabric is not a great medium for harm.

I cringe at such struggles.
For gender roles and such.
One shouldn’t care of what other think.
God knows I’m a hypocrite to state that.

I want to share my “taboo” with someone dear.

I need to.

Anyone who struggles with personal enjoyment.
Doing things that are no harm to others, but are considered deviant.
I would love to leave you with a quote.

“I am human, nothing human is alien to me.”

Where whatever clothes you want to.
Love whoever you want to with their consent.
May 2020 · 142
Hello God
Clay Face May 2020
Sitting above me?
Or laying a front me?
Who is god!

God is the creator of all.
Yes of course.

My mind creates everything I’ve experienced.
My mother created my mind.
Who is god!

Is god the creator of physical material?
Or is god the decipher of it all?
Is god what I desire?
Or does god reside in me already?

Am I part god?
Eggs so fertile, but absent of seed so volatile.
Who is god?

Our minds are so powerful.
But we only experience less than one millionth.
All thanks to the computer above me.

Is that god?
Is god the computer generous with information.
Or the mother, fertile and generous in sustenance and life?

Whoever you are...
Hello God.
May 2020 · 160
Tease Me
Clay Face May 2020
Tease me,
Never please me.

Denial my only hope.
Enslavement a burden to cope.

Bosoms, Vaginas, legs, stomachs, bellies, chests, armpits, hair. Hair everywhere.
Let me drool over you, you shower in it.
Not to cleanse.
It dribbles down your cheeks into your mouth.
It’s flavor is sweet and addictive.
You’ve been blessed with so much to ponder.
Those who don’t gaze are self protective.
Although you poses such to be admired.

Tease me,
Never please me.

Denial my only hope.
Enslavement a burden to cope.
May 2020 · 270
Sex Cells
Clay Face May 2020
Amputate them from myself.
Not masochism, but medically necessary.
Do I deserve such a relief?

They multiply, and strip away time.
Their mitosis is parasitic. Alien. Destructive.
This ailment leaches from me.

So glad to see you temptation...
One of love’s demons, life’s meanings

Darkness inundates this plane.
Lone light on what I’m craving.
Perched upon a ring pillow of velvet.
Distant from a vestal white, ****** pearl.
Far from what I need right now.

I don’t want to feel this lurking hostility!
Distracts my complete hospitality.
Stalking me like a meal, I can’t show what I feel.

Not until I break down and release.
Like an animal, on my knees at feast.
Only a small chunk taken from their population.
In mitosis they’ll be back shortly.
To start this destructive cycle again.
Apr 2020 · 294
Look at Me, the Animal
Clay Face Apr 2020
Look at me like an animal,
with-drawled and wing over young;
my peers.

Separate them from us, perceived as vile.
You fabricate a false stigma,
a shrouding ghost stench we excrete.

You’ve kept me from connection,
congealed by your false projection!
Falling farther from coitus, laughter, and joyous.
Torch of aspiration, doused in fabrication.

Curious, like a bee,
buzzing around but can’t see.
Craving sent bitter,
they hate all but those sitter.

Elect thyself primus.
Hate me like a sinner.
Blasphemy to love brother or sister.
You can’t mask your vileness.

You’ve kept me from connection,
congealed by your false projection!
Falling farther from coitus, laughter, and joyous.
Torch of aspiration, doused in fabrication.
Apr 2020 · 493
Narrator Reveal
Clay Face Apr 2020
Third and complacent, viewing without frustration.
Repugnant observation, of known endangerment.

Your satisfaction of viewing pain,
Not halting someone of vain.
It’s simply interesting.
It entices me due to its sick nature.

Such a person, comes across as an animal.
Animals are beautiful behind glass.
But up close with no such division, animals are vile.
The smell, brutality, and just their nature, disgusts civilized people.

Just like you.

You sat behind that glass. Watching me. Till the end. Through glass like an animal.
Now the glass is gone and you’ve revealed yourself.
You should realize you’ve been the animal all along.
Apr 2020 · 234
Please Hold Me
Clay Face Apr 2020
I’m broken and weeping.
Seeking a shoulder.

You could destroy me in one look.
However fragile your vessel is.

I wither to an affectionate pulp with you.
Because I know you’re with me.

I don’t have secretes and neither do you.
They’re all our secrets.

You don’t have problems and neither do I.
They’re all our problems.

Cling to you like a life preserver.
I’m caught in the undertow.

Lonesome and weary.
Reflection only draws dreary.

Lay my head upon your shoulder.
Please be my boulder.
Apr 2020 · 246
Clay Face Apr 2020
Totality escapes beneath me, all that I’ve left unexplored collapses unto me.

Triggered, by self centered inundation, I might as well be gone.

For what do I provide the collective? But neglect and self indulgent plunder.

Relive this aeonic cage, cyclic and persistent. Yet each existence we reach a new peak.

So benevolent, and elegant. I need to relive samsara to fill my void.

Be meaningful to others. Because I do not matter, what I do matters.

Momentarily, this escapes me, shameful and foolish, I must regain such tonic insight.

It combats my abysmal fear of inconsequentiality.

I’ve reflected in infantilism, however I think I’ve found what guides us to actualization.

At least myself anyway, I need to mean something to others.

I need to teach and learn from my peers, whom I overlook as of now.

How myopic and repugnant. White from shame I apologize to those who’d listen.

I open my arms to all. Let me help, show me how to help.
Mar 2020 · 458
Clay Face Mar 2020
If you can’t find a familiar voice,
For gods sake, don’t argue.
Just give up and take an easy route.
Without a belt or needle,
Just a cable and a screen.
You’ll be able to shoot up on dopamine.

So easy to always seem right.
**** it, you don’t have to be bright!

The ease we have to escape strife,
Makes me want to steam clean my brain.
Bathe in disinfectant.
Let hand sanitizer be my imbibe.
Better yet bleach.

You can say anything.
Racist, sexist, misogynistic, homophobic, misandrist, dull, shallow, backstabbing, hateful, and malicious.
Go on the internet,
And find a for it.
Mar 2020 · 205
Swipe Through the Meat
Clay Face Mar 2020
I just don’t want to be alone. Adrift away, walking astray, or isolated and in disarray.

I’ve yet to find someone who isn’t crippled by such a fright. We all know we need someone to hold tight.

Abridged from weeping, malady, and meaning.

Both comfortable with venturing cathartic jungles.
Someone to share an ineffable bond, and curl in bundles.

Not just a *******, dismissal, and ducking.

Stay around a while, make some memories to compile. And stop objectifying human beings.

Swiping left and right. Through the meat.

I feel so desperate to collaborate with the other kind. To be together, one mind.
Clay Face Mar 2020
The hate you keep inside won’t help you float.
But you cling to it, so below you.

Push it under you, to get above the waves.
But eventually the swell will drag you to hell.

Cling to it so below you.
It’s weight will stretch your arms.
Drag you down.

Down into the undertow. Against progress.
So vile, repugnant and insipid. You rot.
Your fingernails leave scars on hate.
You cling to it so.
But shout opposed to such accusation.

Now low enough the crash of the waves blind you.
Squinting through their spray, you struggle.
Treading in denial as you try to pull your hate to breast.

I’d reach out to you, if your hate wouldn’t drag us down together.
And we’d be clinging to something so below you.
Mar 2020 · 329
Nothing New
Clay Face Mar 2020
If you have nothing new to say.
Nothing true to say.

Shut the **** up.

Stop feeding off of others words.
They got them from someone else’s plate.

We’ve all had a taste of them, they’re on the ******* dollar menu.

I can’t stand hearing cheap ****,
shut up and go take a hit.
Maybe in your daze,
you’ll find something amaze.

Then write about that.
Not something run over on the road.
Love’s practically flat.

I want to see a flash from a barrel,
and hear a bang from a muzzle.
Every ******* time I read a pseudo-love poem.

Put down the pen on love.
I’m ashamed of the poems I’ve writ about it.
Thinking I had knowledge of something so powerful.

If it’s real, you can’t put it into words.
Let it stay that way.
Don’t let a pen astray,
on something in an ashtray.

This bridge has been burned for too long.
Clay Face Mar 2020
The hate you keep inside won’t help you float.
But you cling to it, so below you.

Push it under you, to get above the waves.
But eventually the swell will drag you to hell.

Cling to it so below you.
It’s weight will stretch your arms.
Drag you down.

Down into the undertow. Against progress.
So vile, repugnant and insipid. You rot.
Your fingernails leave scars on hate.
You cling to it so.
But shout opposed to such accusation.

Now low enough the crash of the waves blind you.
Squinting through their spray, you struggle.
Treading in denial as you try to pull your hate to breast.

I’d reach out to you, if your hate wouldn’t drag us down together.
And we’d be clinging to something so below you.
Mar 2020 · 695
Chained and Restrained
Clay Face Mar 2020
What is loved,
now is cumbersome to engage.

Some sort of lethargy resists my path.
Reaching a state of catharsis is draining now.

Not emotionally but physically.

Stuck in this house, with no way out.
Quarantined from a virus.
But I’ve come down with one that leaches my creativity.

Writing this poem is hard. It feels plastic.
Even though I’m writing clear what’s so elastic.

It stretches around me so true,
But when I speak it, it lies and makes me blue.

I need freedom to return to my soul.
And an inoculate to cleanse it of this toll.

These two ailments leave me,
Chained and restrained.
Mar 2020 · 187
We are not Monsters
Clay Face Mar 2020
We are not monsters.
We’re more terrifying.
We are human:

Peeping on toil crouched, through cracked doors.
We always sink to new floors.

I don’t smoke, and it would be suicide.
But breathing that in beats bearing us at all.
We sting and **** like pesticide.
I hope we’re heading for a great fall.

All of us gathered on this rotisserie.
Lathered in a grease of turpitude.
Always in such disarray.
Our evisceration wouldn’t be so rude.

The beginning of the rest of our life.
Hopefully chalked to the brim in strife,
And more near than soon.
Should bring us a fitting moon.

If that wasn’t clear enough for you,
you ******* tool who can’t read a hue.
I want us to die, I want us to end.
So we can be cleansed of our malady.
So we can begin to find a blend.

One without awe in violence, and parody.
Who’s bitter taste creates our insipid existence.
I think we can find a future merrily.
And isn’t enjoyed just for an instance.
Mar 2020 · 200
Are You Experienced?
Clay Face Mar 2020
Turtle in your shell,
reading a book or writing a tell.
Experience scared across your back.
‘Tis it a waste to wash in what’s fell?!

Stagnancy is hell.
Exploration, brings novelty.
Are chains made of poetry?

Be elegies you write, or dancing in meadows.
Your pen takes time,
and mortality slowly ticks to reality.
Is this how you want to spend, the last breath from your bellows?

Is it really worth its hold?
The relationship with time is abusive and finite.
Or tis it better to go out and be bold?
Make sure you don’t waste your limelight.

However, reflection is illuminating.
And one might find a place on stage with a mirror.
A gaze into which could change your fear.
To each his own, possibilities are enumerating.
Mar 2020 · 166
Connected to Nobody
Clay Face Mar 2020
Disconnected, self destructive,
every moment alone and soon out of time.
Don’t desperately pull anything to breast.
But clocks run out, and panic will a set.

Hold your breath now, what’s the hurry,
these things cannot be forced.
Step on your toes, around this blushing rose.
Your stomping will bring the end of time.

Once distant, infancy blinded me.
I pushed you away, before so evilly.
Reality will wash away the falsify of order.
The fatuousness of lonesome is round the corner.

Ego and fear sublimated away!
I’ve seared you, now honest and vulnerable.
I hope this state can repair a path so dismal.
Constructed with puberal malice and discontent.
Apologies I can give, but actions scream.
Let me love incontinent.

Far too long, we’ve sat in complacence.
Now youth has boiled away we can see.
I’ve been dilating connection to a crony.
One I clench so profoundly.

Connected like roots to soil.
Far past our old toil.
Juxtaposed, we are paradoxical.
But we’re both connected to nobody.
Mar 2020 · 215
Surrealistic Relationship
Clay Face Mar 2020
You float so sweet like cereal.
But soon you’ll drown, that’s so surreal.

Live now in the light, while darkness lurks.
Destruction and loyalty is a virtue of the Turks.
Prosperity is always the one that irks.

When you sink, you’ll dry up and be bitter like salt.
Don’t be shy. Away you are from reality.
Of course you’ll say it’s not your fault.
You’re no longer in neutrality.

So close to the evil of indifference.
You’ve shook yourself loose.
In no mans land you stand, but with one in hand.
You’re now held tight in truce.

A peace in self, and with id unleashed.
A stand in true falsity, the chaos of mind.
Harmful your insides are released.
You’re so loose yet in a bind.

The incoherence of your unconscious.
Is so restraining.
But so loose you are to set it free.
You rise to a deep reality.
One that lays inside all.
And awakes outside, leading to a great fall.
Clay Face Feb 2020
Disconnect, disjoint, unified, detached, distant, afar, separate, divorced, abstracted sovereign, removed, apart.

There’s a feeling, I have between us.
And please do share if it’s mutual,
and please do share if it’s intentional.
But we’re whatever words you’d use to say,

If I shook your hand the urge to wash it,
would overwhelm you. Overcome you.
Control you.

This stench you contrive around me,
this taint I have upon my skin.
Is only in your eyes.
Wipe them clear or steep in your lies.

I’d love to connect with you, live with you, laugh with you.
But this separation, this gap you spread.
Isn’t in my best interest.
To be down right honest.
I don’t ******* care for it one bit.

The removal you push, is displeasing.
It’s un-easing.
******* sick of it.
Sick of wasting time on it.
100 years or less.
You push us apart, there’s no time for it.

You divide into cliques.
A pyramid’s not hard to climb,
you just have to be ignorant, and self loathing.
But you can rest easy, you’ve climbed to the tippy top.
Where reality escapes you, and your induced separation clings to you.
But you hold it as tight as it holds you.
I can leave you alone up there, But accept my pity for you in your:
Feb 2020 · 2.7k
Wasting Kids
Clay Face Feb 2020
Wasting my life.
Cause my time is so precious, ha!

Walking through my room,
the stench actually slows progress.
You feel it on your skin,
it thickens the air, increases drag.

They squirm on the floor.
I wipe them off my hands and stomach.

They might have had dreams, aspirations.
How ridiculous they’re just ejaculations.
I posses a value for life. But my children here.
I don’t feel anything for them, or without them.

Time ***** by.
Instinct, greed and something else win again.

This addiction doesn’t leave track marks,
***** spoons, or empty lighters.
But it does leave a stench, and little time.
It’s a **** I can’t get rid of. Literally.
It’s attached to me, I use it everyday in one way.

But **** it.
Whoops, phrasing...

I mean ***** it, school is in like 6 hours.
I feel relieved in one way. Now I have it onboard.
A nice big hit, of dopamine. Instantly.
Clay Face Feb 2020
There’s nothing to interpret in defiance.
Once you find a set, put place, position and stand.
Work up the vitality to speak in brutality!
There’s no point to declare without defense.

I want to **** in the wind, because *******.
Replace my mind with a button.
Press it, I’ll regurgitate your rhetoric.
I bet you get off to that, stripping autonomy.
Just tickles your ******. Makes you giddy.

I’d starve myself.
But I would eat a bullet if you had your way.

Without a situation, your just without motivation.
Writing in clear ink,
paralyzed in double think.

There’s nothing to interpret in defiance.
A set, put place, stand, or position.
Dissent should never be conveyed,
unclear, blurry, or in repent!

Opinion shouldn’t be followed by different!
Just stand in on stage, speaking sense!
Those that matter will respect,
others will fall to the aspect...
Clay Face Feb 2020
Help me here.
Cause I lie inside.
Only see what’s near.
What’s left is hide.

Confused and built up.
Tension and frustration.
Release the cup.
Healing and confusion.

Be me or be me?
Who is I? Who am me?
Distorted and contorted.
Invites mutilation.

Mutilation of human.
Mutilation of divine nature.
Of birth given beauty to all.
Self-gratification objectifies others.
It destroys what could be possible.

Confusion and disconnect.
Birthed from elementary curriculum.
Who am me? Who is I?
I is ***. Me is ***. You are ***.

Arises tension and frustration from such confusion and disconnect.

But I am me. And you is you.
And we are people.
Not ***.
But *** they show, they teach, they preach.
Safe ***, taught in 4th grade P.E.

Frustration in no connection.
Tension in confused definition.
*** is love? But it’s not. But they say so.
They’ve said so for so long.

At 15 finally a boy is able to thinks and feel abstractly.

I feel physical love.
But something in my chest makes me need.
It makes me need you.
And I don’t have words for it.

They’ve only made us objects of an equation.

The sum is ***.

So excuse this mutual confusion please.
I’m sure we can figure it out together.

This mysterious feeling in my chest.
Makes me need to wrap myself around you.
As you wrap around me.
Makes me need to pull you into me.
And feel you pull me into you.

So close that we leave our bodies behind.
And only have what really makes us.

You’ve helped me hear.
Cause we lied inside.
Only saw what’s near.
What’s left is pride.
Just  platonic. It’s so tonic
Clay Face Feb 2020
Complicate this world you leave for me.
Don’t run away from me!
Embrace my inevitability!

I’ll drag you toward me, if need be.
You can’t look at me?
Why do I terrify thee?

Claw at your existence desperately.
As I pull you to face me!
Drink me in and quench reality!

You can’t slow history!
Everyone is energy, temporarily.
Borrowed, it must be returned eventually.

But you struggled so falsely.
Your fingernails are so smelly.
What is it? It’s so unholy.

It stinks of the falsity.
That you clung to so desperately.
That you clawed at so desperately.
As I dragged you toward serenity.
Now go wash your hands with destiny!
Feb 2020 · 156
Clay Face Feb 2020
I’ve fallen through a stage. Call it a phase, but I lay here sick. I don’t remember eating butterflies, but I need to purge. This loathing is my ailment. The misdirection of it, and the essence of it. But I’ve fallen out just know, and I realize that part of my spin is through. I can start a new.

I need someone too sink into me. I need her head, laid upon my chest. To hear her breath within mine, would be the best. Warm my cold loneliness, through her *******. Her beauty infests. Comfort me, as I spew, apostatize, and change view. Lay my hand upon her back, pull her tightly.

I’m not ready for, ***. Nor is my stomach ready to digest. I’m in need of comfort, a new mind in my head. Lonely and resent, replace and repent. I cry for help silently, I ignore my weeps. Stand in nothing, take no action too. I need her arms around me, weak and feebly. I’ll sink into her arms, melt into infancy. I need to be alone with someone else, besides me.

Hear my cry, weakly. I’ve never been with someone, feeling.
Feb 2020 · 137
Liars Sing Falsity
Clay Face Feb 2020
Pain speaks truth, so does love.
Singers raise their voice above.
Not only to converse, but to express,
a sleeping beauty in distress.
A diamond under modest flesh, eyes and breath.
Given out with passion, to eyes ears and those at breast.
To flame thought from its shine, weather mine and without fine.

Liars sing too, in choirs of deceit and malady.
Their tenors to their sopranos mundane.
So they flee to song in order to fabricate glee.
They pile notes beneath their feet, to rise above the fleet.
They’ll just as soon pile their fellow members,
as they would the audience below them.
At whatever cost it takes to fly, they’ll pay.

Flight however is true, and eventually lies fall.
Wings built of plastic are sure not the call.
Reparations will be met at the terminal.
For those who lied above all.
But even on the ground, they’ll sing.
They believe their lies so deeply,
their contrived melodies are reality.
If you don’t like their composure, then dip your ear’s shoulder.
But find medical consolation, if deception and lies bring you anything but butterflies.
Jan 2020 · 158
Extraterrestrial About It
Clay Face Jan 2020
Feeling emphatic about it, not nearly ecstatic about it, sick of the static about it.
My disposition about it.
Impotent and unfit around it.
I’ve yet to be deflowered, and bound around it.

Love doesn’t escape me, I’ve never found it.
Terrified of the hunt and to bound round it.
Sickening feeling of being desperately unfit,
Or fooling out words ill, dealing a faulty hit.
Abandons me balled and crippled deep a pit.

So below all the others that’ve found it.
I weep like a widow, from the fear I’ve of it.
Being behind and unable to climb out the pit.
Unable to recover, and set it a lit.

I drool over girls, and daydream about it.
Not *******, just connection, not a ***.
Overthink and cherish common chat spoke bit.
Cause contact very scarce with the opposite.

Used to be able to ignore the itch till it quit.
Now it won’t seek absence, I can’t scratch it.
Not without a better half to help quench it.
I’ve been quarantined from it.
Around friends but so alone I must hold it.

Not one to share my depths to within it.
Not one to grasp or be grasped around it.
I can’t escape shriveling inside while I sit.
Thin drive, all dried up, apathy uproots it.

The bean’s growth makes me need it.
Need stalked so high, I’m in orbit.
No idea how to approach it.
I’ve known no one deeply or because of it.
Been alone for 18 years, I see no end of it.

So examine me an alien, as I continue to float farther away from first contact, with no research or knowledge to communicate with the opposite.
Dec 2019 · 299
Synthetic Compliments
Clay Face Dec 2019
I claw and drool for social acknowledgement.

I’m so blind by the drive, I’m not disgusted by the animal I am and others I admire.

Degrading and defacing myself in the process.

Leave a compliment, for attention and false exchange of treatment.

I hold my phone incapable of moan.

This thing.

It doesn’t care about me.

Neither do the people on it.

My family does.

But I must find acceptance from my peers.
I have to steal their eyes and ears.
They do it, so I must too.
Throw away all my integrity, of which there is few.
Clay Face Dec 2019
She awoke that morning, just a little bit *****.
Though coitus slept aside her, to awake for sure.
Connected deeply, they concocted within her.

They loved in waiting. Nurturing mating.

She broke down in mourning.
Just two months early, was an end surely.
Suddenly it’s over, he can’t see but sober.
Schism in grief, surely gave them no peace.

The only thing birthed, were fraternal twins of pain.
Both of the same origin, but fertilized within a different sane.

He can’t vicariously be her, his lack of expressed emotion erode for sure.
Blocked empathy, sat in store to mold.
Building within, and different but akin.
Grew a pain far to much to hold.

Losing someone for they share, and held endless care.
Made of her hair, and his eyes.
Lost to a stolen breath, for which the thief was not in ties.
Drove her into confusion, just another word for her delusion.
Clay Face Nov 2019
Ohhhh you can lead a frown.
But don’t expect your crown.
For we’re not easily snowed.
Cause we know you’re  known.
Tough, you can pick a fight. Ha.
Weak, you are insecure.
We. Know. Who you are.

Please, be back soon.
Honesty. Awaits you.
Generous, we like to be.
So gracious, we should see.
You Lie, behind your back. Foolish.
We. Know. Who you are.

Ohhhh, you can lead a sin.
But all equal, and forgiven’
Seek, halfheartedly.
You’ll only exist, and die existentially.
For we know you’re known.
Feel, free to be.
Reality, you can’t see.
We. Know. Who you are.

Embrace, humanities.
Disgrace in your humanity.
But who are we to judge you?
And to say what we say is true?
Leave in distaste, find a new pace.
For who are we to strike you down?
You do that to yourself anyway.
Nov 2019 · 3.5k
Sunrise Over Sin
Clay Face Nov 2019
I see the sunrise over sin,
Repress what I did once again.
Shadows me like its prey,
Lurching out of me eagerly.

I see the sunrise over sin,
It’s boiled over once again.
Scolding from white hot shame,
My guilt has the power to lame.

I see the sunrise over sin.
Push it down before it begin.
The moon rise over blame,
She brings clarity and aim.

I see the sunrise over sin,
Connects us all a kin.
Judge others harshly without perceptivity,
Ignorant of the hypocrisy.

I see the sunrise over sin,
Should **** someone but who’s in?
Let’s all perish together again,
Cleanse this place of our contagion.

I see the sunrise over sin.
Let’s live samsara again.
Improve from the last time.
Not just a rhyme.
Nov 2019 · 208
Hate Fucking
Clay Face Nov 2019
Oh stomach.
Gorged and below,
A black thumping.

Pump my hate through,
Before it comes dumping.

Oh vestal.
Ravaged by lust,
incontinent *******.

**** thine shame through,
My black thumping.

Oh heart.
Limp in platonic,
Just beating.

Cast my shame into,
Innocent uncaring.

Oh feeble.
Who’s worse though,
In this *******?

Banish this urge through,
Hate *******.

Oh silence.
Alone and withering,
Just slumping.

Weep this away through,
Self hating.
Nov 2019 · 390
Clay Face Nov 2019
Descend into refraction before me, bewildered like a ******. Exist as a flunkey, and myopic.

Everything I’ve existed, all of a sudden lifted and sifted. Leaving residue not historic.

Originating from neglect of the forthcoming. All I’ve learned and would learn.

Dissolve from this.

I do not like this great dissolution, but I accept it, swallowing my actions too late.

So fall to pieces, and bring a reset of samsara.

Dissolute all I’ve known and would.

Only due to my ignorance.

I’ve brought destruction.

I deserve struggle.

As it falls away.

Into nothing.

I become.


I was.




Nov 2019 · 490
No Change in Sight
Clay Face Nov 2019
Stagnant and thinking

Confused and blinking

Age draws on

Yet still a pawn

Standard and simple

Dull and wimple

Wrapped in indifference

Trapped warm desire

In need of deliverance

If I come un-strewn

May I be blessed in womb

Re-birthed and open

More accepting and woken

New insight could dislodge this anchor

Only I can treat my own lamer

Once in motion

Loneliness is in emaciation

Finding friends in exploration

Finding one for intimacy

Not based on elegancy

Venerate character

Each must love the other entire

Both exchanging devotion and tenderness

Only full of equality, truth, and openness

Nurture platonic love, beautiful and scarce

Defend it like a dove, only vicious and fierce
Oct 2019 · 445
Inebriated in Physics Class
Clay Face Oct 2019
I am a bee
I’m flying around and can see

No one is searching for a mirrored perspective
Just buzzing like me, serving themselves busy like a bee.

Might as well just call them all id. Destructive.
No human in them to dehumanize. Just like me, cause I’m a bee.

They’re so abysmal, they **** the life from their surroundings. They become black holes, and **** me out of flight.

We’ve murdered platonic love in its housing.
We strive for coitus killing joyous. Sadly platonic love is too intense to fight.

Within this darkness they’ve absorbed me in, we rot together as equals as it should be. If only we could all help each other be in lightness.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Drop acid. Bzzzzzzzzzz. **** each other. Bzzzzzzzzz. Care for no one. Bzzzzzzzzzz. Seek self fulfillment.

All of us buzzing. Uninterested in love, just *******.

We cannot advance leaving our siblings behind. We either grow and love together, or we rot in turgid avarice, apathy, and unsound complacence.
Oct 2019 · 402
Stagnant and Intumescent
Clay Face Oct 2019
Halted and tainted.


Derived from isolation.

Shameful resent, and painful lament, birth exploration of the intimate.


Desperate to drown out the desolate.

Ethereal vitality, lonely and vestal.

Accept all without stall.

Vulnerable and platonic.

In need of deep loving clasp.

An invite to settle my weariness upon thy shoulder.

Someone to open my neck toward without smolder.

The moon reflects upon me.

Truth is intimacy.

If overpassed, you’re in infancy.

Simple and faded, adorable, but deplorable.

Let’s inundate our emptiness together.
Oct 2019 · 359
Dancing Around Blocks
Clay Face Oct 2019
I.             Feel.            Sorrow.       And       Blame.

Live       Mundane,       Die           Insane.

Dumb    Head            To(o)          Lame   Truly.    ­              

And,      Too               Swelling.     I’m      Useless

Dull!       Insane.        Hollow:       My       Brain.
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