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5.3k · Jan 2015
Darkside of DEMOCRACY
Wake up  on the  darkside.
On the  darkside  I live and thrive.
The darkiside  is the true test  of democracy.
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When you wake up/
Hear a sequence of bang bangs you know/
You are on the darkside
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The test of patriotism is mystical.
When you wake up on the darkside/ And remain patriotic/
is the true living of freedom, simply logistical.
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Dedicated for all those men and women who serve and live for our country domestically and foreign, military or civilian- those who continue living even after they experience the darkside of democracy
545 · Jan 2015
No Name
Shackles of pain are broken
The beasts from the cave of cold abyss are awoken

When a tear is shed/
And a pool is bled/

When betrayal is kept inside/
And when pent up violence triggers pride

Love and lies become synonymous/
And the bear becomes anonymous

The cub doesn't know the name
The bear lounges without pain

A cub's love is bled out in a waterfall
Hatred becomes a weight one has to haul

Demise is inevitable
One goes from loving to skeptical and detestable

Then...

(Inhumane Noise) Spit/
And admit

Respect is lost
Humanity is tossed

Love is no longer craved/
For blood shed will be engraved

An animal stops breathing, his sped up heart, which was audible, is now silent/

it collapses, and revives,
YOUR eyes open wide/ his soul is damaged in front of your so horrid

memory capturing eyes creating a memory with a network of emotions from your optic

nerve to your God retching brain destroying your most deep soul and humanity/ then
you’ll know it’s not a matter of safety or even humanity taking place

It's a matter that can only be taken care of by bloodshed.
Cruore discessit affectu/
And, of course, a right hook
400 · Apr 2015
The Monster in Sight
The shackles of tempestuous hatred around his feet
The flames of spurred maturity engulfing his skull
The monster taking down anything within sight
History repeating itself
The brown monster annihilating its own name
its reigns long broken
The monster causing fear in eyes
I looking directly into his
Seeing the face of the devil
The face of God long gone
Purity and Sanity prancing away in a happy marriage
Leaving behind hatred and maliciousness in a ominous alliance
Like a bomb, ticking away at each and ever humans' sanity.
05TICK
74TICK
04TICK
Then I walked away from the mirror
382 · Jan 2015
bond of h3r
It’s a rivalry in my mind
Though I truly understand
Love is a bond

A bond can be of the mind
Or it can be of the heart and soul
I understand my bind with them

My mind fears
While it still knows
It shivers while its firm

This bond is of the altered
Young is of the mind
While old is of the heart and soul

The bond of the heart and soul has been lost in desert
The bond of the mind is drifting without knowledge
She was a dream that left traces of herself

My mind lets her become a restless dream
She walks and kicks along my sand
At this point of my life she becomes the thought that kindles all

The wind whispers her name
While the candlelight gleams
The moon reflects her radiance

Eyes gleam in the moonlight
Smile plays like a record
Hair streams as both

The dream is the reality
Reality is the unknown
While my love shall always show sanctity
My love shall be shown
359 · Jan 2015
H.R.J.G.
You left footprints in the sands of my dreams
One last time could mean one last true moment of life

Existence is inevitably present
Life is rare

Bent over the tables
Or, sitting on an alphabetical carpet

Life can only be present if existence is tolerated
My tolerance couldn't have been possible without a moment of you

When tolerance is accepted
Life can become a redundant sequence of moments

Moments of you
However, "rare" depends on how much you give me

A peasant can ask for a morsel
I don't know how to ask for a millimeter/ of you

Ignorance can be baffling
Not at all bliss

Rarity prevails for one reason:
Ignorance*

A multitude of footprints you left in the desert/
That is my dreams.

Free of water and of you-All I have left/
are the footprints you left behind and a dry abyss of memories

The tables and the carpet/
disappeared a long time ago.
Perhaps it is easy
for those who have never been thrown in a tank and blasted
to say, “It is safe.”

But when you have seen them killed and buried in a
landfill under garbage bags labeld Biohazard;

when men, dressed in white, lock them up with their water-filled eyes; when you see her in the street wearing it which has caused torture/

And see the torture in their pores, pleasuring society, and see them
intoxicated in a garbage bag and crushed by machines in your mind;

when you have to take part of this torture, to earn a living, and see them sweating blood, and see them powdered up and powering down, and see their tortured lungs give up and collapse;

when you experience the torture first account, and notice no animal is
safe;

when they are deformed and become gruesome; when they are marked dead or eliminated

**on the notepad in these men's pad folios

— The End —