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Adam B Feb 2010
R&R
I've been lost at the gates ever since conception,
middle of a 4-stop intersection with a mouth full of questions,
muffled moans and groans sublimate my message,
diluting the essence, fragmented and pinned down
to the dissection tray, with blurred vowels and words
contrived to a sentence.

The surgeon contains the lesson beneath his
shivering hands, carried across his stuttering voice
high strung shattered memoirs, depicting conflicting
moments of clarity and calamity, shaking and swerving
amongst the wavelengths, searching for an ear to rest in.

Blind and burned from the giving hands of deception,
greeted by synthetic smiles and idle eyes,
confronting and critiquing confidential trials,
spoken words in tongue, gasping dry air and stale smoke
with hacks and coughs, collapsing a lung.
Solved the puzzle, 10 down and 10 across,
pervading and staining blank white cubes,
with lines and dots invading, crude man made
brain-teasing tubes, revealing the question through
the only answer: Relentless reflection.
Adam B Feb 2010
Visions from the past,
race before my eyes
like parts on the factory line.
Over these past few years,
oh how I've changed.
I gave up on a lot of something,
ended up with a lot of nothing.

I've left my brain,
scarred and burnt,
now these somber words are all that remain.
They remain the one way to keep sane.
Warriors to the cerebral pain that challenge me
day to day.

Contemplated verses on all I've learnt.
trimmed thin through all the **** smoke
I can't see the end, I've been blinded by the trend
Every passing cough and choke carves another notch,
my troubles are a joke.

On the grander scheme of things,
my ordeals seem small and petty.
How selfish must I truly be to actually believe
that I have it worse than anyone else.

At least I can see, breath and speak,
eat all I can eat, without worrying about
whether or not I'll have food next week.

How this sense of selfishness and selflessness make me weak.
The guilt of the contradictions amongst my convictions,
make it all the more difficult to speak my disturbed mind.
Self-constructed illusions of altruism and egotism
always end up in indefinite confusion.

This literal mess passed off as poetry,
is a perfect example of the train wreck
the doctors dubbed so eloquently: My Mind.

What a waste of time.
Adam B Feb 2010
A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets,
casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below.
Beneath the cascading denizens of light,
a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky,
a patient without his insurance with nothing left but
callous empty third-person reassurance,
"everything will be better" as she said.
But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter.

Save your proverbs for an open ear,
this one is half deaf and full of itself,
despite your intent,
your lack of action perpetuates malcontent.
After all we're all just passing moments
gone and forgotten, evicted,
convicted of being a gutless mime,
going through the motions,
minus a true notion.

A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak
spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities
subtracting numerals adding funerals
dividing families multiplying tragedies
It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate
we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life.
Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry,
pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince.

And I'm stuck spinning in the corner,
with my hands on my head.
Senselessly blurting out: Why?!
But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul
trapped with my head in the sky.
Adam B Feb 2010
Sweaty palms in a pool of nervous heat,
slipping feet wade afloat in miniature shoe boats,
like crocs hidden in a moat,
ravaging and ripping my nerves
carving blood soaked, rigid curves
seeping slow, set in place simply to disturb
and distract away from the right track,
pushing and pulling in different directions,
with every whim and limb located at a different intersection.

Concentration locked away, cast to solitary confinement
placed behind a sporadic, thoughtful wall of silence.
White noise, music to the ears of a lost boy,
living in a lost world, on the search for his lost joy.

Angry outbursts in quick succession,
apologetic verbs accompany the tenor section,
swift and low heartfelt moans
carry the regretful tones,
surfing through air waves,
sticks to the ear drum,
crashing and colliding through every bone.
Felt the sound tingle, through every hair in my nose
down across each toe.

A sincere change of heart,
reaching with bionic arms,
searching, never to be alone.
"Grab my cold dead hand, make me feel alive, like a man.
And we'll lead each other to a new start. And don't fear,
my words are genuine dear. Just show me you'll stay,
and I'll never astray, from love through progression
and not through obsession."
Adam B Feb 2010
idiosyncratic motions define circular thoughts and notions
grasped ideals let go in the oceans of confusion
scrambled morse code messages spelled out in brail
depict battlefields and hospital wards
sanctuaries for chaos, chapels for the wicked.
devils hidden beneath PR departments and counsels.
Put into place to distort and misplace,
the bane of clarity, cancer to the soul.

More should and could be made of this
Alas aesthetics argue and compel us to believe
lost in external endeavors, spiraling into catatonic outbursts.
Has this become the norm? We've been conditioned to accept.

The body of a man, running on the fumes of better days.
Left with nothing but ideals looking forth to better ways.
We've succumb to society and its rule.
The leader points his fingers, declares them wrong
and we play the fool, drinking from the puddles of congressional drool.
Wrapped around their fingers, yarn to their spool, we've let them mold
and take rule. Sold our souls, made way to power tools and flashy jewels.
It's the gift of "freedom", buy and consume. Don't worry about this,
they'll handle the rest.
Adam B Feb 2010
Hidden coves of love disguised by cold eyes
Chances not yet given.
Angry tones escape tooth filled holes
Drilling dissent through another's soul.
Selfish is the only answer,
yet not an excuse.
Forgive the fool.
He is you
She is I
We are one.
Negative polarities combusting innocent eyes.
Lost in the essence of the moment.
This is an apology for the mournful cries.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
distinct beings intertwined amongst the influx
passengers and neighbors, reactive tension
impulses of separation.
pause for a moment. breath together.
similar beings galvanized by difference
nutrition for acceptance.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
Adam B Feb 2010
Distinguished disguised dancers
masquerading man-made makeshift moral-plays
complete compelling communicated classical conversations
penetrating pontificated, pompous perceived perceptions
incisive impregnating indecisive ideologies.

nomads, no longer nomads
humanity, hardly humanity
children, no longer children
innocence, hardly innocence

agitated ardent adversaries arguing
open-ended opposing opinions overtly
disregarding discussed details on.. display
meager moronic monologues misused mindlessly

as..

politically-powered perverse points of 'principle'
vigorously virtual virtues vehemently vested in
stolen sordid 'salient' solutions set to 'save'

To save what?
A system born to fail?
A culture devoid of culture?
A materialistic, sophomoric generation of deadbeats and mindless sheep?
A corporate ******* of sound bites and advertisements?
A persistently forced state of wage slavery?
A game of he said, she said, I'm right and you're wrong?
A seemingly endless spiral of despair and dissatisfaction?
A time and place living in fear of the next epidemic or incoming atomic bomb?

Where's the sense in that? I mean seriously. Why can't we all just get along?
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