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 Apr 2017 alex
Tab
i wouldn't have taken so many pills
one after another
after another
and another
and then just one more
i wouldn't have swallowed my sadness
i wouldn't have had to feel the burn in my throat as i threw up
i wouldn't have to carry this secret around that i tried to **** myself last spring
i just wouldn't
it would all be so different
If we always read
what was going on around us
in our world
in the present
then when would we take the time
to see what is going on
Because seeing is believing
Isn't it?
But no,
no it is not
You might be able to see the world
the actions that are going on around you
but you will never be able to see
The Mind
The imagination is the greatest key
to be able to see
to see a world other than our own
That is why nonfiction is stupid
it only holds what you can see
what you experience in your everyday life
I don't see any greater joy
than reading a story made up
from the billions of people in our world
because only very few can see the world
for what it really is
but anyone could write about
Abe Lincoln, or Queen Elizabeth II
Stupid
Boring
Old
Nonfiction
But what if there was a different world?
A world beyond
a world that only you can imagine
again, this is why
Nonfiction *****
take a break from your everyday lives
and live a life in fiction
daydream
all you have to do,
**Imagine
 Apr 2017 alex
Maahv Z
Untitled
 Apr 2017 alex
Maahv Z
there is nothing more hollow
then looking back to your own life
with a pinch in heart
moving on is a freedom that you've to make
as for nothing is real
nobody is there
i see my heart with an aching sight
with each of beating
it drowns more
in an aisle of despair
like slipping moments
moving one place to another
without any hesitation
i intend to leave this life
just so ******* scattered
i crave for peace
it feels too much to be in ones own body
it ******* hurts
like a needle in body

i am not gone
but i feel myself gone
truth is harder to tell but lying is cruel
being cruel is considered good
so is the lying ..

we crave for own space
this space in my heart that is shattered says
'write poems'
but my life tells me to go on
it's too painful to write your own story
and to rewrite the narrations of what you felt
it just feels too much
sometimes more than these words can describe
and i feel helpless
this heart...this my very heart
it feels so heavy
insisting of loading all the grief of this world
convicted of grief, pressure
all the mammoth madness
of this life
this hype that everyone talks about life
i just don't agree
as sometimes
i even lose the motivation to breath
this pain which is never just mine
but of living too much
for others!
 Apr 2017 alex
Amanda
there is a revolution brewing
the women fill the streets
their light piercing the stormy skies

the revolution is coming
the pink poster boards litter her bedroom floor
fighting for our rights
with the passion of those from the 20's and 60's

the pink poster board held high
our light piercing the charcoal clouds
the sun is coming out,
the four year forecast of constant rain and sleet
will be cut short,
thrown down the memory hole.
the revolution is here.
 Apr 2017 alex
allan harold rex
Rustle in the leaves,
tussle with the vines,
afoot in the tree of life,
the gutsy snake coiling,
Raddled and rattled with mans sin,
Divulgence to the loner who cherished the fruit,
in the dusky orange red skies which brought in the adhen
and from the tolling bells in the distant church ,
While the snake lolloped in the stark blue skies,
Manipulating this oppo for the abyss.
The wandering seam of the night,moon,
With flickering light forbade the seance on the seemlessly never ending night,
Pity the snake for another morn would rise
For it will have to go to the *** ,no the pit.
The ***** and cuckoo within cooee , chanted and coerced another morn out !
Following the sun like the grail, the people lounged in to the waters of the ganges.
While broods of hurted children huddled in hate,
hurling stones at the traitor.
Hauling the renegade into the throngs,
Hunnish hands assaulted him until he swooned in to the motherlands lap,
Hue and cry of the avengers brought in the tripper,
Heavy loads hugged on to his shoulders,
In poise words he spoke,
''for every creation has its flaws,
And when we batter on the withered soul,
It leaves the barren man dry again,
To ward off evil is like blowing into the forges of Vulcan,
And only when tests and temptations are burnt in the bonfires of joy,
will man be moulded into a joyous being''
Hissing whisphers from the crowd spoke,
Heresy of the tripper is the hold,
Hasten yourself and bring our brother medication,
Hunt down the snake will we,
For this vagabond has spoken in verses,
Only to be filed in the trippers travelogue.
Hushed up as the snake in the pit.
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