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 May 2016
Maple Mathers
Regressing into happenstance
I grasped the Rabbit in my hand
One sip I took, upon a chance
Off the edge, into quicksand. . .

Blacking out on your front lawn
On the ground, where you could stand
Can’t remember dusk or dawn,
Sinking fast into quicksand.
Worth continuing?
 May 2016
Maple Mathers
IT'S A PASSION.


*Voices ignored
through
pills

Sanity stained
for
pills

Conscience aside,
need
pills.*

 May 2016
L Seagull
You say trust is paper thin
Rice paper fragility
Can not withstand the nature.
Perhaps, not a single soul knows better
How much wind yours can withhold
Not suited for a desperate grip
But would do well for a masterpiece.
I find faith at the bottom of vulnerability
Decision to live on with fears of failure
I expose vulnerability to the sun
I take off the mask and let the skinless
Breathe... freak out the type A manekens
Fallible oh so human so imperfect
Yet I take pride in being friends with truth
This road is desolate but it FEELS....
I am suspicious too, ready to catch
Another on mixing some BS into the storyline
I'd rather take on heartless than too weak to see
Immaculate pretence I find it hard not to spit on.
SO if you could share one truth
That in your mind raised no doubt
Be it the truth of a destined psychopath
Or fallen martyr
If today was the last day to live
Would you share your truth with me?
 May 2016
Maple Mathers
A problem I have
I’ll gladly admit,
Yet, the question of stopping
I'll never commit.

Some people want wealth,
Some people want love;
My concept of happiness
Hides in the drugs.
Something I wrote in Chemistry class  at 16... Beats the period table. For right-Brainers. Or whatever.
Lucid dreaming is the doorway
        to the unconscious.
So dream.
Do not stay closed
        behind cement barricades
        blocking the moon
        from shining.
Live.
Each second is for you.
The tumbling of life
         does not promise
            anything.
In one breath
you can have
        a time table
        handed to you.
A distinct framework
        of how much
        longer you shall be.
Stay in illusion.
Keep in mind
that very little
is worthy of
being screamed about.
Politics
        and
people games
        are not
         the substance
        of existing.
Picture colourful images
         that flutter
          playfully
            across the
           mental horizon.
A traffic light
      will
       blink
red, yellow, green.
A noise
        will dominate
         the shading sky.
These mean nothing.
Moments of distraction
        soon
         gone away.
Focus on fantasy.
Allow yourself
the freedom to
         celebrate
        the essence
        of harmony.
When you die,
       it will be
         your dreams
         that are
          remembered.
Breathe.
It's just
      a bad day,
      not a bad life.
 May 2016
Clare Coffey
White walls empty walls pure white
Such an infinite blank canvas
Enriched with expectation
Of all that may come to pass

White walls empty walls pure white
A life unlived a life unwritten
In the time of innocence
Before life's hurt has bitten

White walls empty walls pure white
A face unlined a heart unbroken
A heartbeat dancing with joy
The fatal lie still unspoken

White walls empty walls pure white
A hand untouched a hurt undefined
Everything left to play for
No need yet to hit rewind

White walls empty walls pure white
Fingers unburnt tempted by fire
Scorched seared and blackened
A soul emptied of desire

White walls empty walls pure white
A mind in prison a mind in chains
Lost without an exit sign
In a land where chaos reigns

White walls empty walls pure white
Boundaries of a life unloved
Scarred with the marks of torment
But those walls have never moved
Sometimes life hurts
 May 2016
Alyssa Underwood
There's a peculiar kind of beauty that can only be experienced
with the innate knowledge that the moment is fleeting
and the most intense beauty can only be seen in
the presence of both light and shadows.
For it’s often in the loss of a thing
that its worth to us becomes
most precious and by
letting it go with
grace we can
best savor
its purest
delights.
Realizing
that the pain
runs so deep only
because the beauty ran
so deep and that without
it having once touched us we
wouldn't now know the emptiness
of its loss, our grief will eventually turn to
thankfulness that it ever touched us at all, and
we will be left awed by the mystery of its haunting.
***
Armed with knowledge
of any given set of rules,
One inherits great Power:
arbitration of One's own

Be well-versed
enough to be able to subverse
any and all obstacles, however adverse,
and, moreover, to be able to transverse
thyself (and, by extension, thy universe!)
perchance edified by some means of verse,
(but not necessarily: bask in the diverse!)
during this sacred and fleeting saga of the converse
called Life: denied, defamed, and defiled by perverse
and attenuated souls; true cowards: unwilling to traverse
their own inner darkness, rather opting for the reverse:
to turn themselves schismatically and indefinitely averse
to the divine, ineffable, and limitless inverse:


So this plea, please:


Just be you,
let them be them.
Let me be me,
and let her be her.
Let him be him,
just let us be us.
Just let us.
Lettuce.

("Why he talkin' 'bout lettuce now, mommy?"
"I guess he just think he funny, the fool!")



Look, point is:

You are you and I am not,
and I'm okay with that.



I am I and you are not,
and I'm okay with that.


I hope you feel the same.
If not, by me it's coo',
yet I jus' gotta say:
I pity the foo'.


Bask in the holy beauty of this Life
while you still have the chance.
Truly, Solace awaits those who are willing to face this unchangeable aspect of this Life:

Diversity is the nature of this Universe;
the Void is One is Two are Three are the Ten Thousand
(et cetera, blah blah blah)
Get over it and strive for balance.
Maintain balance.
Create it.
Be it.
Be able to lose balance and find it again and again and again...
Be it.
Be you.
I'll be me.
I'll try, at least.
I hope you do, too.
I mean, I hope you try to be you,
not that you try to be me..
'cause that's for me to do.. not you. that's..
oh jesus, here we go!

Foremost,
One must harmonize with One's own Godself.

Nary another
can or will do that for you,
nor shall ye for any other.

So, whatsayeth thou:
let's just try
and we'll see just what we can do.
I'm optimistic,
albeit a sign of weakness in such a needlessly vampyristic world.




Please,
heed my verse
should ye be so apt,
or, rather:
inclined!






Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path.
I hope this makes even just half as much sense to fresh minds as it makes to me right now.

Words are constrained to interpretation,
but therein lies much of their magic.

I wouldn't change it if I could.
--


"******'fuckidyfuck! It's five in the ******' mornin' already‽‽
I been writin' n' editin' this ******' ******* for an hour now‽
Jesus Christ!"

"Whuddup, homeboy?"

"I got work at ******' ten a.-******'-m.!!"

"God-****! You so ******, yo.
Huh, ***** t'be you, foo'!"

"You tellin' me‽ Shiiit.
Look, Jesus, bro, I got a favor t'ask ya:
So, I know you all, uh- real nice an' all,
an' I ain't tryin' t'take advantage a that immaculate ****,
but, look: I drank a lot a water, 'n I got plenty left, but uh-
I could really ******' use some medicinal miracle wine right about now!"

--
PS: Profanity in the notes field ain't explicit, so it would seem.
In keeping with the allusion at the beginning of this piece:
Knowledge is ******' Power, y'all!
-
Now it's five-*******-thirty-
make that five-*******-forty-five in the morning.
Oh, the afflictions I incur in the name of this silly piece of scripture.

Still no miracle wine...
--
Seven o'******-clock rolls around with the epiphany that my lazy and crazy self can get me my own ******' wine! Expedite the whole debacle a little, y'know?

--
Seventeen-*******'-fiddy-one and I just got off work; ne'er got me wine,
but surely ein bißchen Whiskey!
Los geht's!
 May 2016
ryn
.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...
.
Dedicated to all of you...

If you're reading this...
This is for you...
.
 May 2016
mike dm
my skin
is thin and
swimmingly scrim.

the moonface
pushpulls me.

i am
moved
too much.

i am
not enough
mover.

i am *****
given,
all too often.

i am
not
me -

i am you
in your supine
palm.

i matter
little.

my
molecules
are
fast
becoming
transparent,

vibrating with the sound
of your voice, which

seems real
-so real-

real
like
when

the kitchen
sink
disposal

runs.
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