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m Jul 2016
nothing seems to be happening
and so i;ve lost contact with big
poetic words

and what am i supposed to do,
m Jul 2016
i waited for all the people on the streets
to return home
as i climbed up onto the roof
from a ladder on the balcony
and watched as the moon rise,
for nothing to happen.

yet another clear night.
  Feb 2016 m
Hank Helman
You know that voice inside your head,
That whispering ***** that wants you dead,
A hell grip tease, knows every fault,
That sly little snitch that you can’t halt.

A slick negotiate this voice of yours,
Knows the Band-Aid tricks that you adore,
Rough ***, play drugs, drink all day,
Says **** yourself, you’re a throw-a-way.

So listen crisp, you’ve got an outside chance,
****-can the guilt and the worry romance,  
Stoke this moment, jive the second you’re in,
Don’t end your life, let the ****** begin.

It’s a hollow *** world, we all wearing shells,
Hard knocks, beat downs, sad farewells,
So write your ****, make your memories scream,
Claim your poem, tip type the bad dreams.

We can’t make it easy but we can hear,
A community listens, maybe offer a tear,
It’s a bruise harsh life, so take this hand,
Black and white your ****, no reprimand.
Encourage those you know who want to **** themselves to write. Pain has a source--  once you find the pulse of it you can calm it-- at least for awhile--- only art can save us.
m Feb 2016
it's been a long time since i wrote;
on notebooks i have words and some
cursive letters --
as i try to figure out the font of my name--
but i never truly write.

i kept staring at the walls and, somehow,
the room shrunk,
but i told myself i was okay.
even with this much space i could never suffocate.
i'm too scared to think about death.
then the walls keep staring back at me,
and the starry lights make me
lost in dreams
of things

i get so lost in thought of life
that i forget to start living mine.
  Feb 2016 m
Tyler Durden
No one else has ever felt this,
And at the same time, I know everyone has.
I'm so far away from home and it's lonely.
But tonight as we drove home,
You fell asleep on me and I couldn't help but
Think of how much I love your hands.
Is that weird?
Your hands are so familiar,
They have a piece of home in them,
And when I hold them.
The loneliness goes away.
m Nov 2015
here i am
pondering human existence
and loneliness;
such a universally desolate moment;
i am here.
to question the matters of
who i am, where i am
and why am i
i started the moment i start;
at the briefest encounter of warmth
i retract myself completely.

knowing that to know
is knowing too much
i realized i am emptied
a void of knowledge;
incompletely, i drift on
like the sputnik II.
as it orbits the earth
without a meaning
without a song,

and what does it see
when laika looks out
to the vast darkness?
what does it think?
are the questions
of my sleepless nights.
sputnik, come home.
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