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B Young Jun 2018
When life departs
Where does one even begin to start;
                                                           the healing.
Those left behind masked and basked in burning feeling.
   A hanged man
   A hanged man

How does one justify a hanged man.
A man who seemingly had everything, but became a brand.
A bathrobe belt around his neck tied to a doorknob in a french hotel, ****.

   A hanged man
   A hanged man

A man who had everything,
Yet a heart full of pain, searing.
We may only see the outside.
The inside is hidden from us, tearing.
The cries for help ignored, no hearing.  
The inevitable demise pushed out of our minds, fearing.
   A hanged man
   A hanged man
   A hanged brand

How do we accept a hanged man,
a man who had everything.
B Young Jun 2018
I break more guitar strings than hearts,
I am bad at music
I am bad at love.

I hit the chords too hard.

I burst more drum heads than hearts,
I am bad at rythm
I am bad at love.

I strike the snare too hard.
B Young May 2018
Living is as important as dying.
Do not let words leave you, for once
They do they transform to smoke.
Living is just as important as dying.
Do not let the words build up inside you,
For, once they do, they turn to a ball of  
unpolished stone.
Living is as important as dying.
Do not leave this earth without, before
Crying out the words which, if not, will
Turn to sour stone. Because,
Living is as important as dying.

Then Narcissus spoke:
We are the moon
We are the sun
We are the stars
   Twinkling above.
B Young Apr 2018
To the Age of major gains,
But no progress.
Abundant selfies,
But harshly any selflessness.
Delectable boomerangs of delicious dinners,
While many suffer starving in foreign winters.
Become the end-all-be-all of the winners?
Chicken Dinner
Chicken Dinner
   I          R
    C       E
     K     N
      E    N
       N  I
B Young Apr 2018
y b
I desire to play the piano
   fingertips like cigarettes
I desire to pick at the guitar
   fingertips like cigarettes

I want to whistle mellifluous melodies to my comrades
   lips like cigarettes    
I wish to massage your head
   broken fingernails filed cigarettes

I search for my voice to shout but my lungs
   are (((filled)))

I want to write a SuRreal poem
   But, my
fingertips are as cigarettes
cigarettes poem poetry surreal
B Young Apr 2018
Things you need are that hard
To find.
There, over there, outside your window, not the breeze. It is a disease, who waits outside that window. Inside growing groaning please please come and  play innocently come please play. Forget about everyone and anyone you love.

Lubricious ànd concupiscient

There are things that are not that easy
To find.
Say; Love, Friendship, Absence of pain, A feeling of hope-unfueled by any dope. A monster which waits outside your window while you groan and moan for these things, inside blow your window.
Not that easy to find.

Lubricious ànd concupiscient

There are things that are easy
To find.
A blade of grass, a crumbling building, war, hate, and mallace. Yet look harder and may also, easily,
Find beauty.
B Young Apr 2018
Life becomes much simpler
When one gives up hopes,
Dreams, Ambitions.
"Why write?" You may then ask.
Because, it is the only thing to Reveal the face of Truth, in a
World full of masks.

Imitation fireplace, the
Great gates of
Nowhere creak open...
For me, the doors of perception, lead me nowhere You pompous *****.

I know what I know.
I know what my friends know.

Because there's no secrets.
Because there are no secrets.

Is what is energy now, in me,
Later burn in some other new
Will what is buried now,
Sprout after the thaw?

Euphoria Again
Two Rights

A miracle of lights,
I have no reason to not indulge
In delight,
Cept depression eats away, bit/bit
By bit.
To others, seemingly trite.
To me, a life or death fight.
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