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Jul 2012 · 745
Unrequited.
Adam B Jul 2012
Gut convulsions sputtering forth into mental explosions
emotional rebukes and back-tracking,
this feels so right but will be so wrong.
I can't take this leap but I must.
Perhaps in another life it could be
One plus you equals me,
alone with my jawbone tight
grinding molars enclosed in this room's twilight.
Alive and well, loving this emotion
simultaneously raising up and crashing down, what a commotion.
You wore my hat all night long,
made me care about myself, at least for the length of the song.
Now Im by myself, once again, while you're at home with him.
the committed relationship you're in, while we're just friends.
But I see the light in your eyes when we speak.
The uplift of your spirits when we face another feet to feet.
Are you happy and content within the life that you've built?
Or are you ready for something else, subtracting your guilt.
I love you more than you can probably comprehend,
****, the only time we spend together is as wage-slaves,
pacing like hamsters to no foreseeable end.
But every moment we laugh and dance about
makes me want to raise my arms high and shout
"I love this girl and everything she's about!"
But I fear it will never be…
because you're at home with him and not me….
It's been a long time since I've wrote anything. Perhaps this is the first time in awhile since I've felt much of anything.

Here's my heart and mind, spilt gently into a few words arranged across a couple lines.
Feb 2010 · 781
The Noble Life
Adam B Feb 2010
Welcome to the noble life, the middle way
free of anguish and suffering,
loosening your grasps upon desire,
releasing your mind and soul from defilement
along this noble path.
The relationship between you and I
we are one
with all of this experience known as life
a pattern weaving its way through and amongst
other patterns and processes
the deeper we go
we only see more patterns
welcome to the noble life, the middle way.
please, enjoy your stay.
Feb 2010 · 1.9k
Faceless Books
Adam B Feb 2010
Faceless books relive life as pseudo-abbreviated scribes
the tip tapping of helvetica lies reporting banal times
falsified laughter coughed up between every three lines

Faceless books wasting precious time
gathering the masses for the fanfare of a couple of guys
and gals.

Crippled by conformity to fit within cyber-society for cyber-friends and cyber-lives, virtually living a virtual life without virtually living in the first place.

Posing pursed lips and filming grainy video clips
one-liners of the wall signers pretending to pretend to care to come off as they actually pretend to care to begin with.

Two hundred and plus empty entities and counting, the next person met can subscribe to my life now.
Feb 2010 · 2.7k
This is the Proper Way
Adam B Feb 2010
An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations.
Social pressure manifesting itself into anxiety and doubt.
A mechanical mess of cogs and wheels churning out endless streams of mental clout.

Be what I will and do as I may is what I say.
But they say:
Be what we will and do as I do, this is the proper way.
Try not reform or perform to conform is what I say.
But they say:
Follow me through this hollow tree and you will see what I want you to be, this is the proper way

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
passed down through electric, media driven sensations of transient satisfaction,
a mechanical mess of wound up plastic toy soldiers marching in circles with rubber souls pointing death dealing cylinders at each others backs.

Be yourself for everyone else is what I say.
But they say:
Be everyone, or else.
Try for progression's sake, be genuine and certainly not fake is what I say
But they say:
Try for regression's sake, be fake and certainly not genuine, this is the proper way.

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
disgusted with modern tribulation, choosing self-selected conscious liberation.
A singular, personal declaration toward evolution.
A natural mess of vines and roots reaching below and above producing boundless rivers of truth and love.
This is revolution.

Be one amongst many is what I say.
But they say
Be us. This is the proper way.

Be you, is what I say. This is the proper way.
Adam B Feb 2010
Paratroopers free fall,
'chutes coiled and caught in a grease ball afro curl
reaching down perplexed ****** frames.
Diligent chortling mimes trapped in handmade indecision cages, tapping a telling tune of tired games played day after day.
A right brained boy with a head full of clout
miscommunication with a leftist expat from the north
to the south.
Jostled connections send out fizzling sentences
through blown speakers and an overheated circuit -
Bored of the excuses whispers the nameless
without a reason there isn't a purpose.
Shoot an accusing glare past Father Time
overlooking treasonous discouraging crimes
Open those whale blubber caked eyes
to the other side.
It's not what this has done to you
but what this has done to us.
The hitchhiker gave up, traded his thumb for a seat on the bus.
Never was he lost, but given more than one chance.
He, no, she, no we
were thrown away with his walking stick and his waterproof nap sack.
Will we cross this road again?
And pick up from where we began?
Or never turn back?
Always was he lost, but given one too many of a chance
But was it worth it?
Upholding the "right and proper" stance?
Feb 2010 · 1.1k
The Man in Our Living Room
Adam B Feb 2010
You're under this notion,
fueled by the flashing colored screen.
What you think you need,
what you know you need.
They've got it so right, they've got it oh so right
Living life like we're under the spotlight

Lights, camera, action
we follow the rhythm
believe the system
oblivious to the secret faction,
solely conceived as a distraction.

Impressionable we were,
deeply displaced,
Young eyes glaring into space,
we become what our imaginations trace.
Outlines of the human race,
told by the man behind the box
without a human face.

New watch, new ring, brand new play-thing
it's all you need,
they burn the fuel to your greed.
impregnating our every last thought,
only concerned with what, when and how-
much, we've already bought.

Remove the glim and glam of their cerebral spam.
the pursuit of happiness isn't in your wallet or your T.V. screen,
they'll only tell you it's how you're supposed to be seen.
Deceitfully robbing us of our imaginations, confining us to
their own limitations.
Overthrow their control and shut off your televisions.
Feb 2010 · 837
The Other
Adam B Feb 2010
Standardized empty circles,
pencil in each blank completely,
tell us your story in less than 12 rows.
As the graphite sank beneath
cold dead paper stained with a broken biography.

Where's my face?
Where's my soul?
Where's my identity?
Am I just a number?
A blank filled in?
Not enough room to describe
so I subscribe to "other".
Feb 2010 · 954
R&R
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.
Feb 2010 · 1.0k
Lost World
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."
Feb 2010 · 976
Mental Defecation
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.
Feb 2010 · 2.3k
Forgive the Fool
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.
Feb 2010 · 1.2k
Fresh Off the Presses
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?
Feb 2010 · 1.2k
D Level Rations
Adam B Feb 2010
The dissonance in the air
visiting flashes sonically weaving trembling tales
of flash floods and brushfires. intertwined between and beneath
leathery scales, dorsal fins and rat tails.
Intimate whispered coded messages
massaging ear drum lines menacingly, scratching the passages, cruising through each hall.
tapping at every door.

With a gravely groan, reciting a indecipherable buddhist koan.
Laugh as you may
The moon will leave
Without a notice
We'll be without
Another day.

The dissonance in the air
leaving car crashes and birthday bashes in shambled states of stasis
smiling bits of shrapnel suspended in howling fits of laughter
smoldering hordes of children melting under summer suns
all while a paramedic belts out birthday songs
and a clown juggles displaced screws and cogs.
Disasters and dances have more in common than
dispatchers and discjockeys.
Adam B Feb 2010
Why do we continue to persist?
With dreams of grand schemes and the right to resist?
Is it worth the constant struggle?
When we’re no longer sure of tomorrow? Foresight sees trouble.
Does this life eventually pay off?
As we waste away with every passing day..
With a blood filled cough, sore thumbs, back pain with a mind full of disdain.
Make way for the fire sale, it’s on it’s way.
Make way for the fire sale, it’s here to prey.
Make way for the fire sale, it’s here to stay.

Where will we go?
Shall we insist to exist?
Or persist to resist?
Choose a side, neither is right, neither is wrong.
It doesn’t matter much, they all sing the same song.
So sing the songs of darker days.
So sing the songs of devilish ways.
So sing the songs you think that can save you.
they don’t,
they can’t,
and they won’t.

Is it time to jump ship?
I’m running out of reasons to stick around.
Who’s the captain of this trip?
Man, if I ever met him, I’d shake his hand with a fist full of spit.
and tell him to his face about how much of disgrace he brings upon this place
Man, if I ever met him, I’d let him know just how much he brings us down
and feed him my opinion until he’s forced to frown.
Man, if I ever met him, I’d cut him down, oh man! would I CUT HIM DOWN!
Man, if I ever met him.......
Man.. if I ever met him....

— The End —