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Don't Exist Apr 2014
Oh my, that  little white particles in the air is coming
But did you noticed that they don't feel like touching?
They never collide, I wonder why?
what is the magnitude of the hatred they have that pulls them away from each other..
But at the end of the day have enough love to gather themselves on the solid floor?
Gravity,electrical repulsion, air resistance
Do these things affects such creatures?
They fall through the window that is blocked with a screen and land on my boots
They sit there waiting to be touch, to have another connection to this world.
But it is too late for them as they die
Why do they die?
I seek the everlasting touch of frost
I longer for them to come through my window
I lick my lips because of how salty they are
And I feel rejuvenated as an incentive is coming soon
I sit and stared through that window
For eternity to come
waiting, waiting , waiting
until that "gut feeling" anticipation
Have been starved....
I'm talking about snow if you are curious
Don't Exist Apr 2014
Twitch, Twitch
churned until it turns to a sweet fluid
the mystical food that fills the land with warmth
and light
and depth
churn that butter, rippled with fat
with that wooden broom stick working your magic
let your creation poison the world......


about 14 people to be exact on that day
let the sweat be the honor of your work to the devil
let your wrinkles be the prize of that deed
let your creaky and barren home be the result of your selfishness and obliviousness
you don't care, you never cared
let your Blood Diamonds be the new pandemic of the sorrow, sullen, world.
a simple poem
Don't Exist Apr 2014
I just wonder when its all going to end
when I can stop chasing the cigarette
the addictiveness of sardines mix
into my mouth mixed with mash potatoes
sweetened with charcoal and lemons
and smothered with sweet love of honey and with a swab of pickles on the side
would it stop if I put tar all over it as when I swallowed I digest in intense pain?
or maybe the tar will come out of my eyes in which a vision of black spinach will arise
When will it end?
Will it ever end?
such addictiveness
makes me crave for stomach pains
to stop such a thought from occurring
A simple poem
Don't Exist Apr 2014
(might be disturbing to some viewers)
Tick tock around the clock
the clock strikes six, i dock
i dock on the  Seine River
with its shallow waters full of love
and it's reflection from light over the eiffel tower
where at the top of it shines a little red beam shining brightly red
Alarming the whole city...

"alert, alert, alert!!!!!!!"

people became frantic, they started to run
people kisses became interrupted as they lips became forcefully bunch together
which leaves their face full of acne and hepatitis C
people are pulling their dogs close to their arms
people are pulling the strands out of their hair
people clawing  their skins with their fingernails
then finally the alarm stops buzzing as it dims to grey
The city is dull and silent
bodies of death are lain all over the cement.
Alright this is my last poem for today. I hope you enjoy see yah
Don't Exist Apr 2014
Why do I create poetry?
Why am I sitting in this bed/couch, typing poetry into this website?
What is the  purpose of this?
Am I lonely?
Am I expecting someone to praise me for my poetic abilities?
Am i searching for acceptance, acceptance in a community to people who don't know me?
Why in the outside world do I hide my poetics talents from people,
But become bold enough to post my poems for everyone to see?
Am I really that insecure?
Why do I keep checking on my email seeing how many people are commenting on my poetry?
About how many people are following me ?
About how many like my poems?
Why do I keep on going to different websites posting my poetry where it can get stolen?
Why?

Well, because I love poetry
And that's that.
Sorry If I post too many poems. This site is great for holding poems
Don't Exist Apr 2014
Our bodies are borrowed
yes, it is not hard to comprehend
it's not a poetic metaphor
nor is it a intellectual endeavor

our bodies are borrowed...

it might seem strange at first
but then it starts to make sense
but its crazy

our bodies are borrowed...?

Hello, for your whole life you was borrowing something
your soul borrowed the body made from your mother
a mom whole also borrowed her body who sexually interacted with another person with a borrowed body
whose parents created them with borrowed bodies
all the way to the beginning

our bodies are borrowed....!!!????

that means our life is borrowed
our kids are borrowed
our happiness are borrowed
our darkness are borrowed
our ****** activities are borrowed
even our souls are borrowed

our bodies are borrowed??????

Now will you continue this borrowed reality or use your borrowed body to create a world?
a world that doesn't require a borrowed body?
a body of your own?
This poem is kinda shaky. Please comment and don't just ready. Don't be scared.
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