This is how the world bends,
We'd found trends,
Before we found friends,
Received emails before we even hit send.

Attached Emails to feelings,
As though catfishers aren't reeling,
The world became their ceiling,
And made nonsense into meaning.

We had transcend,
To only ever depend,
On online content,
To feel content.

In a radius of one hundred miles,
Everyone knows of Gangnam Style,
But it doesn't stop at videos,
Youtube is but one in the rodeo.

Between Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter
Bullies flushed lives into the *******,
Humans became anything other than critter,
As they coated insults with stickers and glitter.

We leapt to Omegle in search of fate,
In the form of company or a date,
But stumbled onto smeared words of hate,
And dudes who liked to *******.

STOP! LOOK AROUND YOU!
The trees are green,
The skies are blue,
Feel the fresh air of the scene.

We are all connected,
Raising populations of infected,
Of a rampant infection,
Known as the internet connection.

You are Shakespeare in a world of fools,
poetry in a world of broken words and
broken feelings.

in a world full of desperate cryings
and spiteful noises,
You are the jazz instrument that
makes it quiet in my mind.

You are love in the middle of
this war i am fighting with myself.

Your lips, pure art,
You are the smile
that brings colour
in this black-and-white world.

You
a dance in a summer rain,
You
a rebel lost in a world of rules,
a free bird,
a mystery,
You
the richest wine,
that makes my dark feelings
numb.

You,
beautiful as Vincent's Starry Night,
Your eyes are two blue moons
i get lost in
You,
the one who has a shelter in my mind,
You,
the purest feet that have ever stepped on my heart.

You,
the voice that lifts me from the abyss
whenever i fall.


To be or not to be is no longer a question,
to be with You
is the only answer.

Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats

HUMAN FRAILTIES
Smiles do not tell the true character
Love is not what it seems
Friendship can be faked
There is deception in dreams


Words hide too many lies
Promises are made to be broken
Who would self-accuse
Condemn words he has spoken?

By loving you I learned to hate myself
In finding you I learned to lose myself
Eyes roll back into my head,
Decorated by ugly shades of red
Don't really know if I meant what I said,
If I'd rather be dead

Couldn't stop the shakes
Turned my tears into lakes
Trying to teach myself not to need you here
This is someone trying to disappear

Craving your careful stroke of my hair
That simple bliss so temporary

But in leaving you I've learned to need myself
And in forgetting you I've learned to be myself
They said life teaches you how to live it,
you just have to live long enough to get it

They'll let you rot in mildew,
And they'll just let that **** you.
They'll turn your greens into blues,
And burn you like a dynamite's fuse.

They would make sure your last breath,
Is covered in the stench of death,
They'll show you that this was life's debt,
And that when you're right, you have nothing left.

If you happened to be a girl and cute,
They'd take your purity as loot,
Sever your neck with bamboo till you're mute,
And all of this will be before they shoot.

They'll cuff your leg two sizes to small,
So that you slouched even if you're tall,
They'd make sure you'd answer death's call,
And they'll laugh when they take your all.

a good poem comes
from a destructive soul

agony
   pain
     heartache

every emotion
ripped to shreds

   spewed words
filled with contempt

   words that burst
from outlined fonts
to explode
before the eyes
of the willing

we seek those
who are desperate to grasp
just one sentence
of pure and utter
depravity

we don't want
   sing song

we want descriptive
paragraphs
that come from
a war torn
soul

we want
battered feelings
left to wither
and die
among the fingertips
of a keyboard

we want the depressed
degenerated
perverted
mind
to produce
a colorful, kick in your face
strangulating
paragraph
that swirls, flows
and cascades
into the thirsty heads
of the *******.


we want good poetry.

and we want it now.

I have had experience with death,
Ever since I was a kid.
When my father drew his last breath,
Things became ****.

Mother explained that death is like mash potato,
Once you mash a potato there's no return,
And that would be the pulling of the curtain,
No show left.
That is like death, a person breaking beyond,
Coming back together.

Every now and then instead of feeling blue or sad,
Or even lonely,
I would feel like mashed potatoes,
And that's the best way I would sugar coat,
Feeling broken beyond pieces,
Beyond repair...

The year
1966.
Manson was on his spree
Hippies chilled the breeze.
Chicks dancing with rubies on hips.
Then came 1967
Hendrix wowed the crowd
Janis Joplins soul came out
Music splashed
Hallucinogenic heaven.
1968, patterns of clothing
Seemed to be from faraway.
It wasn't American to the main stream
Still wouldn't be today.
1969, Woodstock, the time
Of all togetherness, and weightless
Rockers heads filled with dust and buds.
Cities broke to riots
Gangbanging quiets over colors lust!
1970, met grandmammy
Touched the farmers scene.
Found the happy
In the sixties baby in me.
Today, now a mountain boy
On a machine that cuts down anything
In its way.
The farming hand
Making a living off of dirt and hay.
Spit and clay.

I... how do I start this?

Okay, I'll just, just get straight in...

I think of nameless things,
Weightless thoughts with withering strings,
Faithful thoughts of my distressed links,
Boneless thoughts now surfacing,
Stressful 9, and He stopped winking,
No two's and no signs and I'm singing,
So here's now what I'm invested in:

I like to sing, I like to write, there's a Sılver ın my mınd,
I also like to talk in rhymes, and keep the meaning behind.
No, I don't talk like this real life.

Just a little sometimes :}

Not so socially smart and strong,
That's why I like to stay between my walls,
It's a lot easier.. being you between ya walls, ya know?

I love to know, but am I capable at all anymore?
Lately I've gotten a little time-out,
And I thought it was a nice life treat (becuase, wow, obviously I've always been a lucky me.)
But now I lost my inner light, n my speed's somewhere at school & sixteen,

And I...hate all these I's... I use too much of those, don't I? sigh

So, well, here's my why: I enjoy writing because inside I'm.. just...

Well.
T.Swifting on my surroundings,
And 'my feelings, all my findings,
Schizophrenic analysis,
Drama addict's falls and lightnings,
A hundred more words off a Draddict,
But they'll fall out where the light's in,
And I struggle to finish my writings,
A quick toggle in the dark, a little change in heart,
This great flow of my voice... sometimes. I have to confess of my heart for the dark.
How did I get to write this section?
And since when do I blend songs & introductions?

My winter infection?

A little more than I should, I'm enjoying this dive down deep to the darkest dark. A little more than a little more than I should.