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How is it that a poem trends
I'd really like to know
Does it stand in the line of all space and time
Like a Catholic does limbo

And if they ask for volunteers
Do they step forward and raise their hands
Taking one for the team
Sticking it to the man

I often wonder who decides
Who steps out and who stays behind
Is it the poem that finds
Perfection in the rhyme

So if anyone knows how a poem goes
From obscurity into the bin of trend
I'd be forever in debt my friend
If you could kindly fill me in
Spaghetti is a fragile thing
never make a ship out of it
it will just swell and sink

Never make it a string for your arrows
for more your hands sweat
more limping your arrow will be

Never plant it in the ground
for whom have made this foolish choice
a spaghetti tree was never found

Never use it as a sword
for the only things you would maraud
would be yourself as an ingredient

So Never use spaghetti
even for confetti, mark my words
how not to use spaghetti

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
i always run
facing the intensity
and then i trip.
Sometimes we don't understand,
How far our words go

They can repair a heart…

or just as easily rip it apart.

Forgive me for what I have said to you,
in bitterness and in spite
Tell me we can make it through,
*don't fly away tonight
Maybe I don't deserve you
Shall I blame my eyes?
For each blink it makes
it tries to change my fate
Upon a blink of my eyes
You are right before me...
You don't look charming
but you look fine to me
Upon another blink...
You suddenly disappear
Are you hiding?
Are you leaving again?
Shall I decide to stop blinking?
Shall I take another chance to blink?
A risk taker, am I not?
Now I see you, next I don't
to change another fate of mine
I'd rather not blink again...
now you see.. now you don't..
Poor courage,
break down pleasantly.
Feed the nameless
with siren calls.
Feed them all!
Their hungry bellies can have myth.
Feed them all
splinters of health in your absence.
Be a doll and let them feast.
Behold! You're tragic
after all.

After all drips have fallen
from the auto-feeder,
believing so much in -- no!
Run right back to mother hope,
covered in wire.
Metal bones frame our warm lit home.
Covered in wire.

Stares hurt too
much to remedy.
Breathe the pain in
your oxygen.
Breathe to mend
old bite marks on which critters gnaw.
Breathe to mend!
But breathe instead, poison
cutting coughs.
Begin orbit, notice your throat bleed.
Behold! Your answer
to their call:

Silence. Retreat.

Whisper frustration into bedsheets like a lover,
feel the warmth you radiate imitate another, to
take reward in the title "savior", to be reborn
in your listlessly pulsing head, and sing your solo
song, song, song,
Reborn, born, born
in leery echoes.
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