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Don't worry, kid.
Being poor
is all the same as a throne
covered in precious gems, dipped in gold.

Only ramen
and bulk beans
for dinner everyday, so
you can live a life of luxury.

Internet.
****.
Condoms.

I eat like a peasant to
live like a queen.
1d · 128
My Mustache
My Mustache

Didn't think you would grow,
but you did.
No longer cut
from the cloth of kids.
I miss you, meager thing.
I miss you, innocent thing.

You were never innocent,

but,
Now you're long, you're big,
capable, with a wider reach.
Lush, from a comb and brush.
Full of fluff, and really, just
barely covered in fleas.
What do I have to do
to get through to you:
I do what I must to survive.
Send thanks to any god
you dream and believe:
Shame is sitting still, smoking ****.

Do I
just get by?
According
to the
world
at large, oh
yes, oh yes.

Do I
just get by?
According
to me,
the
world's gonna
end, oh yes.

If you want to waste your mind on me,
that's fine --
I'll be using mine for feeling,
and I'll be full to satisfied.

What do I have to do
to get through to you:
I do what I must to survive.
Send thanks to any god
you dream and believe:
Shame is sitting still, smoking ****.

Scanning
racks and shelves
for any
piece of
me
in what you
have here made.

Scanning
racks and shelves
for any
precious
piece
of yours
to ruin   with my appreciation.

If you want to waste your mind on me,
that's fine --
I'll be using mine for feeling,
and I'll be full to satisfied.

Start the day
the only way
that works for me.
Lighter, light ****.
Massage ball, get my shoulder free.
Lungs, please, do continue.
Carry me through dance.
Tighten the strings
of the universe
through me,
from my feet to my hands.
Offer
your direct,
calm gaze
as if you
see my
potential
just as
I see it.

I've not
seen anyone
with deep eyes
read mine, then
seem to find
meaning. . .

since the last time.

Offer
my direct,
calm gaze.
I notice
you see
the loose string.
I see
you pull it.

I've not
seen anyone
with deep eyes
read mine, then
seem to find
meaning. . .

since the last time.
4d · 114
The Ritual: "Pain"
Here we go again, pain.
How long, now?
I love you more
than I ever.

How long, now?
How long's it been,
since you've loved me?
Did you ever?

I'm not upset.
I'd rather have these
frequent sleepless nights
than have a dream.

I'm not mad at you.
Could I possibly?
I'm not upset.
How could I ever?
4d · 115
M.O.
Formulated.
You think I
don't think ahead
and plan what to say.

Inebriated.
You think I
walk in like this
accidentally.

Cultivated.
You think I
look like someone
you could use or need.

Find me, then, please.
I hope for it.
Find me. Search me
over. I could find
nothing.
Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I guess in the end
we all die, so
turns out to be true
whatever way.

Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I could really use
a lullaby.

Great Papa, he left.
Great Mama, so close.
Mama, in the deep end.
Sister, she ghost.

What's love got to do with it?
It just so happens, in my world it's all.
I am conditioned to serve in the name.
No matter how hard servants seek servants,
the wardens and the masters pick up on the scent,
come running over the distant hills to close in on the ****.

I am conditioned to serve in the name.
Here they come running to stake their claim.
Praxis Shame Mar 15
Leave the inner world
for the world outside the walls,
procure supplies,
then, return again.
That's the plan, Stan.

Feet meet cement block.
You remember the last time
we took this walk?
As well as I do.

Insert a line I've used before,
commenting on the violet hues
of parting suns, painting the
skies above us as we go for bread.

Instead of hidden knives,
I pull a hand and offer it
as we cross the overpass.
If you're scared in day,
you're terrified at night.

Without a pause, you're reaching out,
grasping for a comfort, now.
Easy, is it? I'll bet it is.

If life has taught me anything,
the most important change
is that I learn to zip my mouth.

Joy equates to nothing more
than what others see in store,
and go on to demand of me.

Lamb's Bread from The CDC
replaces intensity
I've lost to love, with smoke.

Light it up, and let it go.
Praxis Shame Mar 15
Everyone says that
I should search for happiness.
Happiness doesn't interest me,
isn't interesting.

Everyone says that
I'm wasting my time on Earth,
dropping the dirt on myself in
my digging to ****.

Well what the **** would I do
with a satisfied desire?
I'll not be sated to meet Satan,
but to take the dour throne!

Feed me!
Offer up a
hidden danger
of a love.
Feed me pain.
That I may
offer up. . .
substance.
Mar 11 · 76
5. Out Of Friends
Praxis Shame Mar 11
I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

(confess emotion)

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

(offer expression)

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.
Mar 11 · 45
Grape Jones
Praxis Shame Mar 11
Ten minutes
In and out
Faster, could I go
But here I stand
Pretty ******* ******
Barely still, on the sway,
Taking grape, when I wanted apple,
Too close to the register,
Show a yellow toothy smile,
All the while, pepper in the teeth
None in return, trans
Action complete
Retire to queerhaus, boot to the floor,
Hide on the couch from the heavy heel n toe,
Wanted apple but I got the grape,
Definitely better than that bullet would've tasted.
Praxis Shame Mar 10
Leisure ultimately
turns into a race.
The finish line
quickly approaches,
whether you are running
or you're crawling.

You can't take your gold pieces to grave.
You can't take your Tesla to your grave.
You can't take your Insta to grave.
You can't take your follows to your grave.

With a finger dipped in inky blood,
I trace the bright dots cross obsidian,
Charting for another loser driven by,
and in pursuit of the touch of love.

I can't take my hot heart into earth.
I can't take my friends closer to burn.
I can't take my fever dream to death.
I can't take the love that ails me,

but it filled me, and fills me,
and if it kills me,
what better a way?
Mar 10 · 58
3. Pride
Praxis Shame Mar 10
Cystic
Nothing but a cyst
Sloughing skin
Kept within

Cancer
Nothing but cancer
Sloughing skin
End/Begin

Dirt pop
Nothing but a dream
Simple wish,
Spinning disc

Meat pop
Nothing but a dream
Nothing good
Nothing grand

**** me. Rend me.
Pull my soul
Out of my ***

Hold me. Taste me.
Rub my flesh
Dance into death

The apartment lies just on the hill.
Beyond the defunct track, beside
The working track. Tall, pale grass

Pressed under trash. Food bags.
Food bags and drink cups.
Cigarettes, butts, and packs

Watch as the refuse stretches
Just as it is
Sharing light of morning sun

Cystic.
Cancerous.
Refuse.
Detritus.

Watch as the refuse stretches
Just as it is
Paper and/or plastic

Beautiful, isn't it.
Mar 10 · 140
2. Melt Away
Praxis Shame Mar 10
Frigid wants the flame,
soak the night in heat,
rescue the cold, then,
from what cold would be.

Chill wants the scorch,
soak the dead in sun,
rescue the frozen
from what cold will bring.

Half to death myself,
quiet breath, no knell,
asking, Where's the hand?
Where's the lip?
asking, Where's a form
who wants me?

No such thing. No such thing as
romance.
No such thing
as loving connection.

Only satisfaction.

so are you satisfied?
Mar 10 · 52
1. (_____) Is
Praxis Shame Mar 10
Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
I'm slamming into thirty, a ship of dreams.
I heard once, somewhere, dream is destiny.

Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
Marijuana, and music videos on the big screen.
I'm alive by loose terms, I should finish it.

Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
I hurt you and spurned you despite your love.
That trend is now a running joke, long past its wit.
Complex patterns design to fit the searching eye,
sought fervently enough by the desperate heart.

From what I've seen of myself,
it seems you get what you give,
it seems you get what you deserve.
If after so long to work, I toil,
and that's my best, I'm unimpressed.

If a lesson is to live despite yourself,
If a lesson is to live to spite yourself,
Consider me among the elite competitors.
Praxis Shame Feb 28
How many minutes
will I live through this mess?
It's a grim question
unanswered as of yet.
How many sleepless nights
will I begrudgingly survive?

Way to go, me. Sad brain.
Pontificate suicide.
She's the ***** beast
with the pike teeth,
picking up on the vein.
She will not leave. She, Me.
Forever & I.
Praxis Shame Feb 26
Reflection.
Awareness.
How am I
still walking
still breathing
despite
carcinogenic
thoughts & feelings?
Reflection.
Ascension.
How am I
still drinking
still eating
despite
reverberation
in the earth's stomach?
Feeding myself to feed you.

Feeding myself to feed you.

. . .

Wet fingertip offered to the wind itself,
summon me personal heaven,
please, summon me
personal heaven.

Flat foot big toe tapping out the pulse
of the bare ground on concrete,
asking heaven of
the soil. Pleading.

Feeding myself to feed you.
Happily happening,
as but a terrible chance.

Happily happening.
Praxis Shame Feb 20
Knee slap, diaphragm control,
living room, bass boosted,
ceiling fan casting an X shape,
blonde locks, same songs,
robots & girl futura,
love, ***, existence,
drugs, dancing along
if you find the nerve.
How do I put this
compact view into words?
Fleeting, farewell,
at large, unheard.
What is it that you deserve?
Whatever your meat
tape, twisted, desires.
What is love to me?
To be, at all, near or beside you.
Tragic for me, as millions,
lessons learned eventually
maybe learned too late.
Feb 20 · 114
Half-Life
Praxis Shame Feb 20
Factions dance blade
to grindstone
(action)
Scholars scratch pen
to paper
(action)
Thinkers mash pride
to danger
(inaction)

What have I done?
Oh, I've lived
Meaningless & Ill
Longer than expected

What all have I done?
Eagerly
Ejected myself
From ****, to wooden ****
Feb 17 · 115
Dead Night, Bedsheets
Praxis Shame Feb 17
Was I
ever wrong?
You're asking me?

I was
wrong nearly
start to finish.

Could I
make amends,
I wouldn't try.

I can't pretend
what I've
done is some

thing I can fix.

Don't erase
all the pain,
all the hurt -
you know it was me.

My failure
of feeling,
of motion,
and failure to see

You, as you, without
my perspective skewed,
without my intent
slipping from
benevolence
and into
malevolence.

Darling, the
dead night,
the lonely
bedsheets
fit my crime
fine, but
are not
punishment
enough.
Feb 17 · 278
Pappy Was An Addict
Praxis Shame Feb 17
Offer up some of your dollar,
get ready,
to win, to lose
a little bit.

Offer up some of your gusto,
get on down,
to the local
gambling hall.

Offer up some of your love,
baby doll, don't kick me,
kiss me, when I'm down.
Feb 17 · 65
Tape & Twine
Praxis Shame Feb 17
Knowing what I know today,
I'm torn between honesty,
and never saying anything.

Pulling from my memory,
I recall expression
as a natural efficacy
of mine.

Fill me with love again,
love as the willingness
to speak as easily as
I can accept my errs.

Knowing what I know today,
I'm torn between standing out
and fitting into the crowd.

My slightly younger self,
saw my much younger self,
thought, my far future self
wouldn't have the gall.

My slightly younger self,
saw my much younger self,
thought, my far future self
wouldn't have the gall.

I'm torn between standing out
and fitting in, and surprise,
I did say it again.
Feb 14 · 55
Segue To Happiness
Praxis Shame Feb 14
Suddenly, from a distant past,
my eyes flash with recollection:
I've been here before --
Not to say another life, but,
another moment in time.

How do I defeat the enemy,
when the pattern -- mistake,
ownership, and growth --
keeps repeating?

Do I keep emulating
this useless thing,
when the distance I see,
or at least seek, shows
no signs of an enemy?

***** nilly sillies
point flagrantly
at every happy clown,
wagging finger, dismayed,
sending to wind "For shame"s.

Historians have always known,
you could always leap frog
the copy/pasted placement
of seasons as if to say
we're changing.

One person's happiness
is the next one's disaster.

Think other thoughts.
You're a master.
Feb 14 · 75
Darkbeat: Cored, Spun
Praxis Shame Feb 14
Best movements made are subtle.
Years, been record needle down.
Embrace the rubber ring
king of the loop.
Stuck in spin, too.

Spent, cored, spun,
inside the toilet.
Spent, cored, spun,
inside the toilet bowl.

A format, everlasting --
   good!
A poet, ******* banality,
   out of steam.

Cored, spun, and bored,
skimming porcelain.
Cored, spun, and bored,
kissing porcelain.
Feb 13 · 246
Darkbeat: Ocean
Praxis Shame Feb 13
What's there left to say?
Rest the head on knee.
Finger weaving hair,
our eyes on T V.

What's there left to burn?
Cool the heart from heat.
Inhale deep dismay,
then exhale slowly.

Twilight, half lit dark.
Bare to share the beat.
Taste, taking turns,
highest high,
lowest low   ly.

Freckle you with light
brown skin fingertips.
Depart the anxious
rush to ***,
savor sole   ly

to put lip to skin,
to prolong the sin,
to enjoy to no end,
calm, and then
rising action,

****** and
the unwinding.
Feb 5 · 73
Darkbeat: Joker
Praxis Shame Feb 5
Your mission:
Commission peerless tools.
The world merely spinning
has thrown you for a loop.
No more will you react as
tempted by your stimuli.

Who are you today?
- How about tomorrow?
Will you succumb to fear

as it follows
you in step?

Who are you today?
Who are you tomorrow?
Will you succumb to fear

as it follows
your every step?

Your plan:
Understand your soul is your
pulp, press it in pages,
rewrite the tales you tore.
No more will you lend your pen
for the sake of sympathy.

Who am I today?
- How about tomorrow?
Will I succumb to fear

as it follows
me in step.

Who am I today?
Who am I tomorrow?
Will I succumb to fear

and so repeat
all my mistakes?

My mission:
soften my gaze
into the glare
of my enemy's
fevered eyes.
Shed a tear for
persons wayward,
put my head to their
pointed gun
& die

laughing,
echoing,
forever
in time
& time
tempers
you into
death as I.
Feb 4 · 107
Darkbeat: Dreadnot
Praxis Shame Feb 4
Given life
while
it kills
to breathe,
it ills
to breed,
it kills,
while
given fight

this   dark   beat   wins.

Dread   not,

give   up   the   battle.

Dread   not,

the world is.
Feb 2 · 72
American Tough Guy
Praxis Shame Feb 2
Flesh golem, walking toward,
you're not searching for me.
You're finding an end
with your kit of means.
It's obvious you've

*** to loose -

it's backed up high
enough it's the light
inside your eyes,
and do I see it?
Yes, I do.

Promising heavy
shades of heaven
within the pleasure
you bring -
thing is, dipping stick

is boring as ****.

What about the places
you forgot to touch?
I breathe *** deeply,
your lungs are shallow,
you're in a rush.

Oh, but you'll have your stories.
Construct the pulleys,
form factor, until you ascend.

Oh, but you'll have your badge.
The sheer facade of your fragile persona,
is simply crystalline.

:)
Praxis Shame Feb 2
If I can identify the problems with
the actions that I take, and the moves that I make
mere seconds after flapping my lips, or
twisting my lips, then

why do I do what I do?
I don't know.
If you're asking whether I think
it's a good thing, or
a bad thing. . .


How long   is it before
"just what I do"    delivers
you to prison walls from paradise?
How far   is too far, to
let my personality drag my brain around?

If I'm self aware, I'm on the borderline.
Control me, will you, my rampant ways?
I have you centered in my sights better
than I ever have, and it's now I think to tell
myself, Action must yield choices more
than Piety or Wantonness. As a for instance,
if I see myself clearly, can I drop the gun
as long as I develop disclosure and transparency?

I'm ******* you, I already know my answer's yes.
From my experience, honesty invites
the utter end of communion,
and from this, you inherit an abject loneliness.
Feb 2 · 60
Reflecting Pool
Praxis Shame Feb 2
If I ever
get cold
and wield my
syllables
against
your hot
naivete,
it's
just because
you're intact.
Who am I
to
harden you?
It's
a problem.
Praxis Shame Feb 2
If you die tonight,
which god's gonna save you?

I don't believe in a one.

So, you're telling me
you're God, now? You're nothing.

I don't believe in nothing.
Was there meaning in my birth
besides two ******* twenty somethings
playing at love games?

What's the point of human life
when existence is pointless?

Full potential of the pointed mind,
free as it can be, to discern & decide.

Are you warrior,
or are you peacewalker?

Are those the only options?

It separates us,
angel kin & demon.

Circumstantial evidence.
The urge in your eyes to **** is missing.
If we're drawing those lines in the dirt,
I see love in you.
You don't deify or deny -

- here you killed to serve,
yet we're exchanging words.
The End.

Thank you.
Praxis Shame Feb 1
Loathe
Power verb
Direct, yes
Though,
Verbose is
How I wrote

Still I write in open circles
Even I don't know what I mean. Trust.
Looping back, is there not an artistry in that?

Together
Adjective for the ages
Cut to form,
Don't get me wrong,
It sounds fitting
With the way you lead your life.

Your confines.

Look at all my fitted pieces.
I bend the lines with word as waveform.
Looping back,
Fulfilling is
As useless
As it is
Useful
Praxis Shame Jan 28
Spider on the wall in a shower stall
Immobilized

Skeleton to the end, a somber mule
Beast of burden

Each successive time I claim
I'm in a balanced state

Surprise!
Psychoses.
Praxis Shame Jan 27
What is the commotion?
Can't you ******* keep it down?
Deception crawls &
Connivers chisel a network
Into the earth below their brains

& There's nothing you can do, so, please

Try to keep it down.
Identify the signs.
Shut your mouth &
Disengage, or you'll otherwise
Wake the beast - & you don't want that.

Let the covert lie, as they breathe,
& take a note. *******   take a note.

Don't you repeat the mistakes that keep
your mind & your heart wrapped in their affairs,
when the manipulative, & the easily led
certainly won't miss your meat, as they are
well fed in their reciprocal designs.

Don't waste your time.
Like I wasted mine.
Praxis Shame Jan 24
Leg over leg
Blue to the face
Late monitor light
Cat napping nearby
For me, small sleeps
The numbers skip
Red won't betray

All my ends
Approach and collect   dust
Is it   worth it?
Probably
Not, but I am sense   less
Is it   worthless?

Take it from your
future self:
Yes, absolutely.
Let red devour
all your plans.
Reign supreme
where we
enjoy our curses.
Praxis Shame Jan 20
How clean is clean
when the cleaning began
from the floor of a sunken ship?
Barnacles grace the walls in the place
of family, or a familiar face.

When filth is a given, and given
in projection to the overtly empathetic
as a matter of course, why implore?

Because you don't implore,
you explore as an entity
reaching for a meaning.

The question becomes,
do you fight, or do you invite
the coming cessation?

Even with a gun, and a view to ****,
the power the bullet affords
would surely fail to thrill you.
The best charlatans paint your hands red,
as you're sleeping in bed, preemptively.

Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
Uninterrupted access to their own confines.
To Narcissus, the cool nod is colder than the knife.

Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
When the company you keep requires the sacrifice
of your authenticity and your reality, just leave.

It'll never get good. It'll never get great.
It'll never be worth the investment.
Praxis Shame Jan 16
I got dem B-Side blues,
perforated shoes
of my own design,
off color flag of mine.
I got dem prescriptions,
I'm passively shunned
by the typical,
like it matters at all.
I got dat bizarre brain,
patterns I contain
automatically
run 'crash.exe'.
I got dat problem child
run rampant wild
here within my ranks -
what deserves thanks?
Nothing at all.
And everything.
I know this well, now.
Praxis Shame Jan 15
Navigate sewers
swinging dagger,
poor, poor poo rats.
Clout is the end
all be all means.
This is the beginning.

Tavern town, invite me in.
Odd jobs for experience.
Not long after, gold pieces.
Make my way, eternal ring.

Navigate mansions
slinging war spells,
poor, poor private (army).
Clout is the end
all be all means.
This is the rise.

Tell me, now, I'm slipping into
myself like I always do.
I see the needle point.
How many times will it run us
through?

Tired, now, of the games you play.
I need a heart to communicate.
Tired, now, of the games you play.
I need a heart to trust.
Praxis Shame Jan 15
Moving less toward the past
than to the future.
God save my ghost.

Drilling lanes into my flesh
by turning the screws.
Tighten my plates.

Before I know it
come undone again,
eager for the dawn's
heavy noose.

Bowing as a point
to the morningstar,
witness, sufferer,
bane and boon.
Praxis Shame Jan 15
Often, I think back.
Grip on the childhood
uncurls, slowly.
If the muscles don't fail,
bones will break. Oh,
Did you ever get
over your neglect?
Comes and goes,
Bexis, comes and goes.
Too high an expectation,
receive your input
and your feedback.
Grip on my childhood
memories loosens,
sudden. In your descent,
you grow terminal.
Your heart beats so hard
it might rip through
your ribs to fly upward,
back to the summit.
All your love, it is not lost, I
lap you up, still.
Is this separation unreal?
I can never figure out if
I'm naive or cynical,
if I'm worthy or worthless.
How did you feel,
when with me?
How did I feel,
when with you?
If the muscles don't fail,
bones will break.
If we play with what's at stake,
will we ever learn and grow?
And if so, is it worth this grinning ghost?
We'll make it,
either way.
Praxis Shame Jan 13
Accept the flaws in myself,
lasso the breadth
of my errors
with no regret.

I believe there's a switch
where the matter
lives in a state
of yes or no.

Commit to the wind in word,
I won't wrestle
control from
anyone but me,
and my worst self.

Empathy on high,
Sympathy on low,
Compassion on,
for transparency.
Compassion off,
for sympathy play.

I am not a means,
I am a world.

My worth
is not measured
in the weight
of my faith in
and the care I take
of others.
Praxis Shame Jan 13
On my way to this place
what were some traits that I missed
recognizing as my own things?
I can't separate my own from your things.
That's always been my great undoing.
I lose control of my self so quickly.
Once looking like a dove, I become
oil slick and grounded in a swamp,
where the flighty thing becomes a being
made up of the rant and the cry and the yell,
*****, not as a state, but as the state of things.
I can't separate my own from your things.
Now I'm alone. I'm alone. And I feel.
This bird's alone for the first time.
On my way to this place, I've hurt
and I've caused big hurt. Now I'm free to see
through these eyes, all alone.
Now I'm alone. I'm alone. And I feel
Like myself. Purified.
Praxis Shame Jan 12
This a song for me.
It's a song for the others, too.

We know who we are.
And if we don't, we will,

It's only timing.
If you look into the eyes

And witness unveiling,
This is a song for you.

Broadcasting Now. . .

Your self is you.
(reject the ones at odds)
Self is your truth.
(the predators you choose)
Truth is self love.
(prey on your sense of self)
Love is within.
(you're not a monster)
You,
(you're not a monster)
You,

See hidden knives,
Apparently.

Broadcasting Now. . .

This is a song for me.
This is a song for you.
Jan 11 · 93
Place of Power: Shaman
Praxis Shame Jan 11
Fingertip
dipped
in white
powder,

My visage
drawn
with black
grease paint,

Who am I now?
Have I been the same?
What validity is there
to your lover's claims?

I've become the goblin king,
so who am I to want to heal myself,
when my self and its persistent sick
continue to do their poisoning?

Buck *****,
drenched
with sweat,
dancing.

My brain
quenched
by my
purpose.

Move and move.
Strike, tow, bend,
twist, and snake the lines.

There's a truth beneath the truth
that first surfaces, the truth as it exists
without a spin from prying minds.

To obscure the err to serve the ego
splits your merger with heavy veils.

Have you no shame?
I must know shame,
and accept shame's
innate dark side,

where shame is fruitless.
Jan 10 · 126
Place of Power: Positron
Praxis Shame Jan 10
Looking on both sides of the fence
sure takes some stiff upper lip, I
haven't succeeded.
Have you, yourself, found success?
See, it's so easy with a different kind of head
to absorb the different energies around
you, so much so, you can't draw a difference
between yourself and the other.
In fact, you'll only draw in threes.
Holy? I'm no ******* fool. I see a loop
in the trinity that's ***** as my breathing.
Looking on both sides of the fence
sure takes some stiff upper lip, I,
to see the positive, won't erase the negative.
Giving credit, where I must just to survive,
I suppose I've found mild success.
Do I regret living? No. Not one ******* bit.
Give credit to myself, where I must to thrive.
I can't be the void that eats the positive
charges and value life.
I won't deny the beauty inherent in myself,
as I see it outwardly in all the lines preceding,
and the lines to proceed.
Jan 9 · 619
argue me
Praxis Shame Jan 9
Have you seen me?
I'm missing.

In a little town,
that I've been around,
I've found the one
and only hole in hundreds
leading to a separate world
below.

Asphalt and all,
cold hearts,
nearly bare feet travel lengthy
streets, small in complaint.

Asphalt and all,
dead brains,
nearly there, but wrapped in
politic, fighting over what's real.

Have you seen me?
Apparently, I'm gone with no reason.

I've been around.
Everything is strange lines coming
out of nowhere, taking root as patterns,
meaning what you make it.

Asphalt and all,
**** brains,
nowhere near, but covered
in politic, fighting over what's real.
-- but I'm alive.

They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
All your brains can fight me,
fight their eyes.
They can fight me.
All they want to fight.
They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
                 I'm alive.
                       I'm alive.
                             I'm alive.

Fight me.
I'm smoking ****,
diving into dreams,
barely leaving my house.
Come on, *****, fight me.
If your heart does so explode,
when your eyes cast sight on what you know
is abominable, then come and arson these
paper walls with me inside.
Fight me. Take the life.

-- but I existed.
                 I existed.
                       I existed.
I take solace knowing that by living at all,
I've angered people.
That's, hilarious.
Dec 2018 · 136
}condition{
Praxis Shame Dec 2018
i don't like
to be upbeat
time is killing
i'm in the sheets
i don't like
to be awake
time is wasting
there goes the sun
so, hello, moon
you missed me?
i've been missing you
weighted words
won't leave
my lips
even in whispers
the absent
voice goes
missing
then, unnoticed, when
you make the ink run.
For gibs. Mouths and words again. You have a point.
Dec 2018 · 629
dust mite, the muted
Praxis Shame Dec 2018
flame in a dark pit
rain on a mountain
ice
   in the veins:
                          blockade
one of these days

techno nightmares will break
through
   analog purity,         of course
      they will but,         then
   you'll have it your way,
where dust becomes you more
than your electric
   dreams,         of course,
you would rather be muted

i won't
For ya, gibs. Gittin goot.
Dec 2018 · 229
(lost sessions) pithy party
Praxis Shame Dec 2018
not only is beauty supposedly
in the eye of the beholder, it
also reportedly emerges from
an intangible depth within

okay, then, so that means ugliness
comes similarly from within,
or doesn't it, baby?

so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the pit of your stomach, and in
the words that pass the tongue
on the exit from your **** mouth

so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the nerves buried in sleeves, and in
the actions that slip the heart
sneaking past the brain, and vice versa.

on the grab from your dead hands.
on the grab from your dead hands.

not only does it tend to work
unlike the excitable pretend it works,
the implication is, that half of your
worthiness is linked to the mercy

of the mass effect.
as for a thought, a dream,
an intent, an outcome,
a vision, a nightmare,
a hermit knows the good folk
permit attractiveness to good lines.
4 gibs. take it and do some super artsy dook on it!
^·^;
Praxis Shame Dec 2018
Check errata, pressure chests,
minds of razors edges, vie to
stress knowledge for the win:
You second guess yourself, then.

Flip the cold and oddly coded
engine as if you're blind to it.
It's happening again, now.

Verses nurse the wounds.
Wounds nurse the verses.
Pain's slyly subjective hooks
have hooked the meat of me.

Like accountants slicing numbers,
I slice the mountains into soft shapes.
Earth and water, earthen urns, hold
Life to carry, to gift, or, to displace.

Choirs sing on high, of rightful things.
I was frightful, once. With enough
ignorant vehemence poured upon me,

poured upon me, a bath in love's less
eager refuse, has turned my dreams, too,
into excrement, excrement. Utter ****.

I was excited, once. I swear I was.
Holding out for ****** touch, left cold,
hopeless and wanting when the only
validation, validation I was taught

set my value in cash and beauty, cash
and beauty, two matters of strict
adherence to social standards, but what

if two fat, hairy legs make my tongue wet?
What if otherness keeps me lonely?
What if it keeps me lonely? Can I take
that pain, after all, into the ground of my grave?
4 yu, gibs. we got dis. :3
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