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Clay Face Aug 2019
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Happy Sad.

It’s not a great feat to conjure happy writing or happy experiences

Mostly everyone is completely able bodied to do so.

Writing dark just gathers attention and is so much easier to write due to relativity.

When something feels good. It blends in with mundanity. When something hurts. It stands out.

Attention seeking is ******. Vacuous is one who engages in such activities.

Therefore I will write a happy poem...

I’m about to eat a steak.
In a cabin that was built in the 20s.

It had the first flushing toilet in sublet county.

I climbed today, nothing difficult. But it was very enjoyable above Fremont lake.

Now, sitting here on this ancient deck. In utter silence besides the Birds. I don’t feel accomplished. I feel comfortable. I can’t and don’t have anything to prove.

It’s only been an adventure. Starting out with rolling my friends Jeep. And then not telling his father. But rolling it back over with a sketchy high lift jack setup as a winch.

I can’t really see any point in holding onto grudges. But honestly I know they’ll come back as soon as I get back to civilization. That disgusts me about myself. I enjoy the bliss of being without malice, however I do not avoid it beholding me again even after self reflection.

How pitiful.
Clay Face Jan 2019
Love has become a greedy act. Two people two minds. Their branches of accumulated knowledge and ability never intertwine. Coitus is all, and not exactly alchemy. We just "Love" now. It's tone is dull and hollow. We should come to ponder if it's time to wonder into an open question of loving not the physical. Our collective neglect for humanities has flown high. Love, science, math, empathy, art. All starved out by the greed of their caretakers and guardians. Phrases so selfish like, "I love you" or "I want you" should disgust us. What filth it fills our ears with, to repeat phrases that used to be meaningful. Now we call it art to compile them in a rhyme or writing as a whole. To describe a person only by the physical aspects you enjoy while you're in the shower, in bed etc. Not to say you shouldn't cherish people intimately. It should make our hearts low to have numbed phrases like those. If we collectively view love as something intense again we indulge our lives and others with a more profound meaning. We have lost touch of what it means to actually love someone. It's very rare now.
Clay Face Mar 2019
This seemingly ancient machine dances in front of me.

Composed of sandstone and so unsoiled it’s beautiful.

Running under no power.

Under ultimately strict order yet so peaceful and free.

Upon its belt are people seemingly so familiar yet unidentifiable.

It’s belt spirals and twirls up from its darker origin.

It’s destination is unknown but seems an eternity away.

That length in time does not cause anxiety and I somehow maintain a sense of immense peace.

As it ascends, it’s path lightens in tone.

I am in the middle of the light and dark.

Looking upon a pillar of sandstone indescribably tall.

Atop  it in the center of the spiral at my eye level.


Seems to be a Greek goddess formed of gold with wings and a spear at ease.

The belt winds around in its spiral continuing its production of some sorts.

I do not fear the dark nor do I strive for the light.

From the middle as a spectator.

I feel unbearably safe in both spectrums light and dark.

To descend or ascend.

In the middle as a spectator.

I feel such a wave of love and warmth I am unable to describe. It was truly elegantly Devine.

And I am not one to call himself religious.

I feel such a sense of embrace and acceptance for an unknown subject, that I wish I could continue my slumber.

As it is really enlightening to be able to accept something so undeniable and absolute.

I want more of that feeling.

I don’t dream often, but how blissful this is.

I feel I am undeserving of such beauty and so grateful for it, even if my mind contrived it in my hibernation.

Then only blanketed in one sheet.

I am stripped away from this elegance I have done nothing to deserve the chance to observe.
Into a cold room, with the miasma of teen spirit and reality.
About a dream I had last night that I couldn’t stop thinking about all day. I felt so amazing during this dream. So complete and understanding and warm I had to express it.
Clay Face Jun 2019
A man born of nothing
Likewise from everything.
Came from no where
Yet somewhere.
A man who clutches freewill
But has no voice.
He is of every hue
And whom his coitus is specific
And undefined.

He walked the earth by choice.
Conversed with whom he wished.
And lived how he saw fit.

However a calling came for some heroes of his clique.
And he was drawn or he volunteered.

Rough this path was to be
And rough it turned out.

As the path grew darker
The man grew darker.
He partook, inflicted, and observed such unimaginable cruelty. It could only be imagined.

The cruelty was real.
It made him feel so real.
So connected.
Primitive and so developed.

Until he found his breaking point.
Seeing something so terrible it was definitely real.
His eyes wore scars that only faded in the later years of his life.
But he would remember the scene to the exact detail forever.

The path got brighter. So did the man.
But the man was always not as gleeful as his surroundings.
He like so many of his fellow hero’s got stuck in the past sometimes.
Going back to when the path wasn’t so bright.

He lived the rest of his life in peace. Had a family. Fought for the right things with what voice he had.

One day he returned to the most horrific battlefield he once stood on as a soldier.
A man his age, but of the enemy’s looks gazed at him.

An unspoken barrier would always separate them.
But these two were as close and as far as brothers.

They shared a glance so deep only warriors could read it. Roughly translated it said, “All of that is done and gone with. I’ll love you for sharing my memories. I’ll hate your for the bad ones.” Then they went their ways and lived out their days in harmony with hatred and sadness.

Only men like them will ever really be truly human. Living on either side of the spectrum of good and evil for your entire life is fictional. Truth is only found in equilibrium. Humanity is only found in the duality of Devine beauty and incomprehensible darkness.
Clay Face Mar 2020
Turtle in your shell,
reading a book or writing a tell.
Experience scared across your back.
But...
‘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.
Clay Face Jan 2019
Sin with your kin.
Spread amour for kindness
Begin with acts of evil chagrin
Sin with your kin
Bin what's within
Greed is vileness
Sin with your kin
Spread amour for kindness
Clay Face Feb 2019
Who was the first “Original”?
The shepard before the Sheep.
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?

Their following a facade of an imbecile, it’s pathological.
But without it, they would weep.
Who was the first “Original”?

Why can’t they see the fictional?
They pray the lord, their soul to keep
What did the Sheep do before the Methodical?

Has it always been traditional?
does it help them sleep?
Who was the first “Original”?

It is a joke to see this as Logical
We’ve been snowed by those in the Keep
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?

Why can’t we find Traditional
We sit in a crowd where we praise what they steep
Who was the first “Original?
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?
Clay Face Jan 2019
This day in age really proves these creatures are mythical. A piety for pretentiousness inundates us. Drowning in its waters, our egos float up to our heads. Would it not be exceeding if we were as a Blemmy? For without a ceiling to float to, our egos would stay concealed. We could just drain our ocean of turgid avarice for fabricated intellect we seek to praise ourselves with. On the other hand we would become dull. But isn't it wise to at least conceal ego if we cannot smother it? Without ego we can work as one. Think as one. And when we achieve that, we receive the ability to complete all that is conceivable. To bad most aren't willing to give up what they treasure most. The acreage of Real discovery and accomplishment is a fertile, vestal place with unimaginable possibilities. Hopefully one day we will come together and parade through its pastures and meadows as one.
A Blemmy Monster has no head for those who don't want too google it. They are cool you should check them out. This poem tries to express how we let our egos go to our heads while we strive for praise through being pretentious. Without it we could accomplish more especially together.
Clay Face Jan 2019
Only by fault, pseudo-intellect festers by closing ones vault. Withholding feelings and ego. If we were to unleash what treasures they hold, people wouldn't be cold. Feelings provide warmth to a personality. When shared they spread their warmth. Treasure locked up isn't useful. So find the key. Be charitable with what's inside. It brings people closer and births understanding and respect. Some feelings might burn, so be careful. Overall, common ground should be flushed out of its cave and nurtured. With friendship ego dies. What an accomplishment it would be to cure an illness society raised within us. Please. Loath it with others and we should grow closer together, to each other, and live in harmonious coexistence full of love.
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.
Clay Face Mar 2019
I have a lust for rightcheousness and luxury
Help me
Help me
Help me
Dig deep
Dig deep
Dig deep
corner ego it’s turgid.
And **** it.
Must cleanse myself of this evilness.
The corpse reeks of malice.
Without it the breath of my soul is aromatic.
Must crucify possessive vocabulary.
I want
I need
I
I
I
Hang them on a cross of selflessness.
Nail them with actions of helpfulness.
Forget narcissism.
Forget avarice.
Forget being vitriolic.
How unbearably odious my behavior has been.
I apologize as sincerely as I can.
After all we are all cursed being human.
All my faults only show how weak I am.
Through reflection I have shed light on the faults I am capable of revealing.
Yet I have not sought action.
That’s how weak I am.
“I need help” I say.
But the first step of healing.
One does by themselves.
Seek help.
I sit here lethartically.
Thinking help will come to me.
I’m so tenaciously idiotic.
And.
To make things worse.
I grow impatient and annoyed that help hasn’t found me.

See.
I realize this.
And I’m so week that still. I won’t do anything about it.
I won’t seek help after writing this.
I might think I will or think I do.
But it’s either two lazy a cry or not one at all.
I am repulsive. Yet to blind to accept it as the divine truth it actually is.
I say I know myself.
I do. But I don’t actually embrace truth as confronting as it is.
It would help me.
I’m to lazy to face that though.
To scared.
So I slither back into my pitiful narcissistic chasm.
Like so many of my self involved peers.
We all realize it. We resent it.
But for now it’s a part of us.
Clay Face Sep 2019
Numb, dead skin
Dumb, head in

Isolation withers you
Insecurity is idiotic

Find, yourself
Hiding, from health

Social interaction
Will give you traction

Swim, into
Dig, you fool

The undertow drowns you
Reincarnation awaits you

Lose, your shell
Binding, you in hell

Venture out of vacuum
And without presume

Shyness is repulsive

Enlightenment, awaits you
Selfless, and too true

Adhere, to the collective
Powerful, and perspective

Connect with others
Help without stutters

Samsara, is a chance
Not, a trance

So help each other
Venerate and gather

Moon, sits waiting
Her, confidant scintillating

She’ll tell her secrets
Without regrets

Only, if we conquer the three poisons
Tonic, clean, and pleasant, like soissons
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.
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.
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.
Clay Face Jan 2019
Essentially, being essential has left the act of *******
Recreationally, its disposition has changed
Innocence is torn away by arrogant, ignorant, deceitful lectures that **** ****** intent and understanding.
But the students are told to be grateful for this "education" and thank those who de-flower their young perception.
Have I missed out
They say stay young
But look who made us grow up so quick.
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.
Clay Face Oct 2019
LEFT TO RIGHT       TOP TO BOTTOM
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.
                                              
                                                       Blame.
Clay Face Jan 2019
Awake to find a pain in your head and heart.
What is this sadness? What is this swelling?
Millions are in vain, some dead, some ****.
Moral reflectiveness, narcissistic poisoning.

What cure do we pursue?
A large glass of altruism for humanity to cure our heart ache.

What cure do we should we ensue?
A large capsule of selfless love for intellectual conversation. Without that vile poison of ego. It should reduce the swelling.
Clay Face Mar 2019
HUMANS ARE OBJECTS
LOVE IS ONLY PHYSICAL
*** IS A RELEASE EVERYONE NEEDS
HAPPINESS THROUGH PROMISCUITY
SOCIAL STATUS THROUGH LEWDNESS
WEAKNESS IS REPULSIVE IF NOT ******
EMOTION IS DULL AND BORING
YOU NEED ME
MORE THAN YOU WANT TOO
EVERYONE NEEDS ME
MORE THSN THEY WANT TO
I HELPED PULL THE LEAVER
THAT EXTERMINATED LOVE
AFTER *** ED LED THE CORRUPTIBLE
TO MY TURPITUDE
I CAME TO YOU AS AN AFFLICTION
ILL LEAVE LIKE AN ADDICTION
Popped in a Rollins band lyric
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.
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.
Clay Face Feb 2019
My leg hurts

The jaws of this inhumane trap engulf my lower shin

I have the tool to disarm it and free myself

But I muttle in my adolescent egocentric pain

Caught within monotonous routine and self interest I rot like my peers

I've sunk to a level of self loathing, that I enjoy pulling myself down

I

Am

Disgusting.

I

Need

Help.

I cry for things I can give myself but alas I withhold it to feel sorry for myself

Me and my fellow youth

Equally as useful, equally as useless

Although I am free of the crowd I am still blinded by my adolescence

Purpose

Interest

Intellect

Great-fullness

Peacefulness

Gen­erosity

Love

PURPOSE

all I've know is I am here to be a vessel for knowledge and indoctrination

I am here to have an opinion I voice, but does not matter.

I do not matter.

This function is welded to me

However...

The voice of destiny reasons with me again and I hear:

Seek what's within

Garrot it.

Place yourself into the walls of meaning and the murals upon't

Serve others in selflessness. Share with others in selflessness. Learn from others in selflessness. Teach others in selflessness.

Your a pawn in the samsara. Do your duty within its game.

Gain higher consciousness so you can share the path to it. Become a giver, not a taker.

Interest

Intellect

Great-fullness

Peacefulness

Genero­sity

Love

Six lessons left, define yourself within them. Or perish within your self indulgent pitiful hole.
Got a Tool lyric in there for those who like Tool

Anyway...

This is the firt lesson of my ascension

After more than some self reflection I thought I was ready to post a kind of collection of what I've found so far. Obviously I haven't reached ascension yet. So it's kind of unfit to call this collection ascension. It's more of some lessons I've learned in self reflection and my path to ascension I want to pursue throughout my life. Hope you take something away from this or be influence to write poetry yourself. Maybe do some of your own self reflection I don't know. Thanks for reading if you got this far. Sorry I am a quite person IRL so everything I vent here is pretty long.
Clay Face Feb 2019
Clearing our eyes of residue left from the lies we perceived as reality. We must move forward.

Internally destroyed.

Nothing of fact was real.
I feel betrayed and you should too.

The first breath free of the grasp of lies

Is utterly pure.

We must enjoy this for a brief moment.

Destiny awaits.

Reaching out to us. We all hear it's beckoning in a different form.

What I here is this:

You exhaust yourself on the past

Pathetic

It's inconceivable to think you can last

Empty of purpose and full of old hatred

Value you hold, is very little

Change

Console, and become a tittle

A part of some collective release

Wander into the depths of your caverns

In search of peace

Unearth all you find there

For the world to have a Saturn

May they follow without tear

Or we perish

No set leader

Just all a merish

Reconcile yourself into selflessness

Be fearful of what you do not know

But brave in the endeavor of finding it.

Develop a thirst for learning that is unquenchable

Be ravenous for service to others

Purpose

Interest

Intellect

Great-fullness

Peacefulnes­s

Generosity

Love

Now we're free

There are Seven lessons to achieve.
Clay Face Sep 2019
Control me
I’m sick of playing man

Get close to me
I like it

Let me feel weak
Make me feel weak

I lock myself in society
Act my part, it disgusts me.
Make me soft
So lock me in chastity
Release and degrade me.

Withering away
I seek reality. I want to find me and,
Enjoy myself. So **** me.

I want to be weak with someone who will support me.

Emotionally.

I want to care with someone.
I want to care for someone.

I’m so confused.

The longer the better,

Please hold me...
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 Fuckyeah.com for it.
Clay Face Sep 2019
Seek so intently
Fight it so invently

It lies to everyone
It lies in everyone

Seek so intently
Fight it so gently

Ego is resentful
Ego is repugnant

Seek so intently
Criticize pithily

Venerate
Open mindedness

Seek so intently
Explore curiously

Or pine for meaning
In you’re prison cell

stay so fetal
You’ll stay so fertile

Until you venture
Past your hurdle
With a great hurtle
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.
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.
Clay Face Jan 2019
A net of self indulgence strangles us
Through it we see our indecency
We should hate our parents
Mother of our nature
And father of this selfish life bestowed upon us
Luckily paragraphs are short,
This one will just embarrass us for the rest of the essay
As so it should be.
The disgusting state of mind the net intoxicates us with is so painful to bear,
But to survive we must.
For being sober would be to alienate yourself from your fellow lamb
Wolves are shadowed within the herd, and don't pray on those poisoned with selfishness they are tainted with as well.
The poem I submitted to join. I just really wanted to share it and see what people think.
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 2019
They profit on your silence, and foster insanity
To reef your identity, and fade you to normality

Control is an abortion of instinctual fundamentality
They blind us with a bleach of hypocrisy to fade us to their normality

Gather once in number, to support the dismantling
Fate of compassionate and empathetic rationality, is threatened by a lie of social justice in pronouns and prejudice

This is an infection of our political mentality,
to allow other views to be heard only if they align within sheepish bounds of radicality

Neo-**** Ideology. What insanity
Can’t let it fester, or our dignity will be the fatality

Disgusting to muzzle those who believe differently
As long as it’s not hate, preach what you practice
Clay Face Aug 2019
I’ve never actually been with another.

I have a close friend.

But I yearn for intimacy with a female.

Within extended pauses.

This lingering feeling.

Rises from its hole.

And finds me up through the undertow.

Bewildering me with a chasm of alienation.

And shrouding me in its dismal light.

I let myself foolishly steep in it.

Until I am saturated with my own self pity.

As pity rots away it turns to anger.

And I decay into a more disgusting person.

One who self loathes. The root of my problem.

How can one love if they don’t love themself.
Clay Face Sep 2019
Get up
And **** me

Punishment for wasting

Punishment for dulness

Correction
Useless

I’m blinded by desire

Blinded by lust

Dopamine
Is my Dream

The only way I’ll take it

Is now and neat

Waiting
Is repulsive

It makes me shake and gag

Wasting time
Relieves me

Oh **** I got a head rush

Falling from the hit

I feel a sense of dread

Reward
Void of struggle

Leads to emptiness

And muddle

I fail to employ this knowledge

And smolder in video games

In YouTube

And *******

Do everyone a favor

I’m insipid and useless

Make it slow and forever

Painful and selfless

******* **** me

I’ve neglected the preciousness of time
Clay Face Feb 2019
My right hand is very good at it








You ask people

They say it's in between the sheets.

Real love is dead. We murdered it through death camps called elementary schools.
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.
Self-gratification.
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 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.
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.
Clay Face Feb 2019
Boredom, as a form of torture is welcome

Brutalize us into eager lust for curiosity.

Emptiness saturates us without wonder. It's taboo to seek ideals outside of the curriculum.

However it's much more fulfilling.

The straight jacket we are in-prisoned in cripples exploration and reaching ideals that oppose your own.

Stay deaf to those that don't practice what they preach. Or those that sow hatred.

This Devine gift we are hardly deserving of must be appreciated. Gained during adolescence we neglect it.

Formal operational thought is an ability we are taught to be repulsed by. Ironic due to that ideology being repugnant and wasteful.

I've come to tears after realizing our ability to think abstractly is frowned upon by peers and society. Not only in interests of intellect.

If you speak of trying to understand real love. Especially around teen spirit. Your a "***". A "*****". A "freak". Of course these are untrue and you feel no propulsion to disprove them.

Why?

Because you're not insecure about your beliefs and feelings. You know your strong for that. You also feel confidence in your compulsion to coitus with whatever person you find attractive no matter their gender. As for being a freak, you know your peers haven't slowed down from partying and ******* long enough to ponder what an emotional drain their lewdness is. Besides their physical and mental exhaustion they complain about everyday. Their remedy is to repeat the cycle. Party, ****, die. High school is an **** for everyone who's "popular".

It is gross to see such a majority of the population waste their psychological ability no other species owns. But through reflection and learning you need to be tolerant. You see it's futile to tell others what to do or be condescending toward them. It would drain you and them due to the repulsive nature of those acts.

Offer help and love, empathy and understanding. And stay curious.

Intellect

Great-fullness

Peacefulness

Generosity

Love

Stay­ curios and learn 5 more lessons on your path of personal growth.
Clay Face Mar 2019
Through my own tyrannical enforcement
I spew insipid scripted statements
I do not support nor enjoy.
Afraid to be aberrant
Oppressed I am pushed to lecture repugnant contradictions against my own disposition.
Turgid loathing of the fear of dropping the expected facade
Supported by ego and enforced by group-think to mold a homogenous majority.
I hate self pity.
Here marinating in my own self indulgent sorrow.
I am a hypocrite.
Another one of my enemies.
But weakened by forcing myself to state the opposite of what I value,
I open myself to further self destruction.
Through this introspection I might be able to reclaim my social autonomy.
Possibly at the cost of diminution of social impression.
That is held at such divine standards today.
I might become a social martyr.
But at least I’d die complete and confident in my own voice.
It would open me to ridicule.
But I’d rather understand myself and be subjected to hate than to live objectively in a self confined contrived reality.
Clay Face Dec 2021
This.
Stimuli.
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.

I.
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.
Clay Face Apr 2019
Claw a bit closer to me
Embrace my malevolent ability
This will help you feel a reality

You feel so safe without wonder
But pine for authenticity
As you rot inundated by false benevolence
You live in such gleaming
It’s insanity

I’ll pluck you from this numbness
By fogging your false sun with a dismal filter
And I’ll *******

I am not what you expected?!
I am not what you wanted?!
I am truth. What you pine for idiot
I am tonic
I will make you feel something real

You’re scared of such a fiend
Only because you smolder in this apathetic medium

I’ll make you uncomfortable
I’ll make you feel like ****
A relief from your dystopian existence
This dissonance will wake you from your slumber

You will gulp from my malice
It will quench your thirst for authenticity
You will feel emotion
You will feel hatred
You will feel bitter sadness
You shall no longer be vestal like your peers

After I deflower you of such “innocence”
You will no longer mime false emotions
You will venerate happiness
You will cherish sympathy
Because you’ve been uncomfortable
And you’ve been in vacuous darkness

You like darkness.
You need it.
It makes the light more dear to you
In fact.
It illustrates your reality with such a fine and tenacious brush
That if it were replaced. You’d be blinded by the blurry falsity it leaves in its absence

For the sake of reformation
Don’t return to ingesting insipid entertainment
Don’t return to experiencing life through media
Digest honest art. Not pretentious art.
Not dull art either
You’ll live much happier

And I won’t have to violate you again my lamb
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.
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.
Clay Face Mar 2019
Losing my mind faithfully
Help me to find empathy
Praying behind fear and hate
Blind to the eye above my nose
Seeking connection to everything
Is so below my favorite thing
I am the one above all beings
I hate myself that I would ****
Swallow a pill if it would make me still

Neglecting a path that fixes me
Becoming faithfully in service to
Society it includes all of you.
Clay Face Mar 2019
Jesus Christ.
I blame it on my personality
ENTP
funny, but romantically inept in using it
Smart, but overbearing
Curious, but boundless in exploration
All of these are virtues I have but cannot manipulate.
It haunts me. I hate myself.

Reality
Hurts
Introspection invites pain
Introspection invites healing

I am a gutless fool.
I wallow in excuses.
“I never have the opportunity to talk to her”
Make them.
“I’m not good enough for her”
She stares at you in class.

I love that feeling.
Whenever our eyes meet.
My heart drops. And so does my stomach.
It feels like the floor beneath me.
For that split second. Falls away. It scares me.
Inviting us both into our own world of benevolence.
A flash I wish could be eternity.
Then our gazes dash away just as quickly as they collided.
“Did she notice?”
“Did he notice?”

We “flirted” a lot in 7th grade.
Then we’re separated by schedule.

Didn’t matter.
My pea sized mind...
It couldn’t fathom or even comprehend love.
I didn’t know what I wanted.
I hope you still might want me.

English assignment: write a soliloquy about a personal decision.
I write one about my in complacence and unsureness of sharing my opinion.
You write one about dying your hair blue.
Through your short work you’re funny and shy.

Oh my ******* god. I adore you to death.

At the end you show a stick figure drawing of you next to a college with blue hair.
Labeled: me in college with blue hair.
******* goofy.
I absolutely love it.

If you had blue hair I wouldn’t care.
You’d still be jaw dropping.
Though it would match your eyes.
You have the most gorgeous blue eyes in the entire world.
I literally could get lost in them forever.
They’re so...
Deep.
Deep like I try to make my poems.
cough
cough

Anyway.

Anything I create though could not be as exquisite.
An ecstasy one could die from.

I feel so creepy reflecting on your looks without you knowing. Like I’m stalking you in my mind?

I haven’t flirted since that math class we shared.
I’m afraid I’m rusty. Dilapidated.
I would say something that would push you away.

Or.

I tap your shoulder.
Be hypnotized by your eyes and stand there.
Mute.

Oh...

And the sweat.
My palms would be moister than an oyster.
I’d be beet red.
My voice would quiver.
And boom. It’s awkward for both of us.

Awkward can be nice. Just.
At appropriate times.

I’m so weak.
I have no map to a reservoir of strength.
I have no courage to confront you.
I desperately want it.
I need assistance in acquiring it.

Funny.
I’m a curious guy.
Always looking for adventure in books etc.
But I’m haunted by adventuring toward you.
I see a treacherous path that with one mistake.
I die.

If I make no mistakes.
I win a prize I see myself as undeserving of.

So excuses I make.
And withering inside I drool over you.

We both never talk to the other ***.
I want to talk to you.
And I think you might want to talk to me.
But I block our mingling through fear I cannot control even if it might benefit us both.

I need help.
I’m afraid of getting help.
Then I’d try something and mess up.

Oh my god. Help me.
Thanks if you read it. I’ve never felt this way about someone for so long. I do not know how to approach this. It’s so uncomfortable to me.
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
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.

Nothing.

I was.

But

Now

Am

Ø.
Clay Face Mar 2021
Meat

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.
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.
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