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Yazad Tafti Dec 2019
today i worked with a thousand lines
these were not of track lanes
not of pencils
not of illicit substance
not of merchant queue
but code in which everything can be rewritten
laptop...soon i'll write a poem in only code
Yazad Tafti Dec 2019
today is a day;
not meant for sweeping or mopping
but for keeping and stocking
unless your sweeping my pulled out hair and my tears off
that
hard oak laminate platform upon which i stand
keep my tears stored away on your prized display
collection
of
moments where his heart was shattered like the glass eye of the kid's face i punched
brass knuckles ...but i got glass in my knuckles now
no one deserves this
i should have never laid a finger on you
for you lay me down to rest and i love to rest on you :)
just a bit of ramble ramble...the insider
Yazad Tafti Dec 2019
why can't you come back and share fun
Yazad Tafti Dec 2019
a tree planted deep in its roots
could not blossom or spur
but flourish
for the caretaker always watered and the sun
the sun always shined
look up and check, if you become blind
you know it's true
but who watched the care taker
....
just the stalker across the street
peering through the windows with binoculars
jotting down the actions and deeds committed
she just put her attention upon trying to formulate
what it meant to be a good person
what it meant to care
what it meant to be a caretaker

for when the caretaker was no longer able to nurture
the naturalist could fill the caretaker's shoes
stalking is just a cover up for taking interest upon a person
(this may not be poetry..but my thoughts atm)
Yazad Tafti Dec 2019
sit back
pull out my pack of 24 lung burners
light it up, enough chemicals to outdo the periodic table 50 times
the amount of cells i've killed are life crimes
leather jacket /pierced
got tattoos until i feel the ink drip down my sleeve
leave a puddle of resin, blue aquatic disbelieve
take a stride flick it all into the ashes
post dramatic stress disorder
overplayed every departure from separate classes
PTSD FROM MY PDSD
Yazad Tafti Nov 2019
emphasis on this cyst growing in my head
dear sister can you help me help my self
who knew oxygen and essential fluids could give death to life
my system is no longer apparent
this systolic pressure is compressing my heart to a cranberry
cranium buried
help me relive life to it's potential
i'll help my self
personal assistance is a myth... i communicate in fables
get er done buddy
Yazad Tafti Nov 2019
i love the Frost fingerprinting my bedroom window
laminating a translucent sheet
Jack seen only by his palm prints
the widow's window of opportunity
covered with frost
turbidity caused from a loosely stranded past
she never sheds her winter coat
frost is always clinging on her summertime pane
in winter she wears extra layers
jack was here
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