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 5d
Arcassin B
"Whatever we convey to you,
You think we're lying,
Better get real familiar cause loose ends are tying,
They love politics and the underlying,
You understand the half without innersighting,
Better get acquainted with the chakra finding,
Lacking discipline, cut out all that trauma dumping,
They tried to block the energy , there is no stopping,
Collecting all the data that they store like shopping"....

(full poem in link below)
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2025/03/feedback.html
 Feb 28
Arcassin B
AB - ..Baby rejection is protection,
We were never ever the same,
Self awareness and common sense meets logic,
The human brain can only do so much,
Consciousness electrifying beyond universes,
Thoughts racing into better circumstances,
Better choices,
So be mad when its you I would erase, you are a phase,
Don't betray my trust , it could get ugly,
Make up a sob excuse for what you did, waddle like a little puppy,
This world is a joke and when it ends , it still will begin..

A.R. - They say it’s best
To expect the harm
From other human beings.
Its yours anyway
If you ignore it.
Your fate, your fault
Your flaw.

No excuse for innocence
Even if we all
Join this world
With it
intrinsic.


**** that.


There’s an obscene
arsenal of barbs
And daggers.
Piled up on the
hardwood floor.

A Battle Royale
In waiting.
But I won’t touch
A single one.
Not even for the shadows.


Cut me down
And I’ll be shorter
But I’ll never be
Anyone but
Me.

(Full poem in link)
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2025/02/this-world-ft-ar-ivanovich.html
 Feb 23
Arcassin B
By Abpoetry

That of your own self interest,
getting the weight off your shoulders resulting in some further examination on your part,
Shadow work , watch the wheels turn,
watch em' tumble over rocks and fall apart,
Like soap suds , cleaner modern art,
the chaos ensues, the world is a ruse,
Ya' skin color's already something they'll use  ,against you,
You lean into the tense you,
You wanted love , you wanted someone to Innerstand and learn you.
you had someone , he took ya hand , you gave him things,
he took those things and threw them right back in your face,
Now you want justice for your heart,
You couldn't get it, always lose for winnin'....
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2025/02/so-called-healin.html?spref=tw
"Your true enemy will never leave you."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Your true enemy won’t stray,
Sits inside you every day.
Since your childhood, **** devour,
Shameless, honorless in power.

School, the system, hollow lies,
Every rat in rank and guise.
You’re alone—against the pack
Of the fiends who drag you back.

Filth keeps sinking, world decays,
Spitting on the Spark’s faint blaze.
Satan’s goal is crystal clear:
Cut the bond and spread the smear.

Every gang just serves his call,
Fascist filth and madness rule.
Honest minds don’t fit at all—
Crushed beneath Totality’s cruel.

Death comes early, walks ahead,
Seeking those who won’t obey.
Friends are few—or worse, they’re dead,
Lost for daring say their "nay."

Drowning deep in filth and grime,
No redemption, none in sight.
Still, resist it all the time,
Lest you lose your inner light.

That’s the way to save your soul—
Only friend who stays around.
Hear Psyche, keep your spirit whole
While the liars drag you down.
 Jan 8
irinia
The poet cannot talk about what he already knows.
Northrop Frye

light splits the world in seen and unseen
night accelerates some fascination
I contemplate the poverty of words
who is doing the autopsy of freedom or something,
a requiem for a country that torments its name
streets don't smell of winter but of loneliness and oblivion, exhaustion and rage
some have already forgotten the meaning of blood
we like sweating not weeping, cursing not dreaming, finding the stain not the brain of fog
we practice forgetting like the snake charmers

dreams look like second hand stores, like the promise of the apocalypse,  a local version of Munch's scream, like an uninvented wheel or the beginning of the world.
an old lady sells fir wreaths in disbelief
too many drugstores ignore the untethered soul,  
a place of redemption they are, unwittingly

here there are poets, there are beasts, gentle souls and blind alleys,
indifferent smiles and lazy hands
and who can hear/bear the echo of that song... better dead than communists, comrades
province hates the center, the center forgets its north,
the all good sequestred against the all bad, no dialectics in doublespeak
truth to be told, there is  no consent for telling the truth
ersatz emotions exchanged casually, Hell is other people. always.  some play Russian roulette with reality, we are the heirs of a history disorder
if my dreams are full of birds, waters, lonesome deposits of the flow of time, I have to wonder
is history a desire machine searching for some mythical proportions

this country or a ****** mother with indifferent hands
here citizens have no faces, but interrupted gestures, fractured thoughts without containment
I fear those who cannot cry
without the meaning of blood history has no meaning or maybe it does, look at the speed of some digital thoughts,  the attack of ready made ideas. ideology becomes eulogy

no wonder I don't know how to end this poem
we need new words that contain their power
what is freedom? who knows, who cares.
oh, an old adagio, a gangrene of our undiscovered minds
 Dec 2024
Nemusa
Everything bleached—
the words, the memory of words,
the tongue flattened beneath the weight
of what must not be spoken. A surrender
of sound, a silence that tastes like salt
pressed into a wound
you forgot to name.

Here—
the iodine threads through the dirt—
it burns its way backward,
into a childhood—
is it mine? I do not know—
that never grew
out of its scabs, that curled itself
into a tight fist
of unhealed skin.

The razors, though—
they moved like swifts, like
unseen birds
cutting through the air
too fast to stop—
their kisses, their strange
geometry of ruin.

And the grown-ups, their words—
or were they storms?
or the echo of gods?—
"You must obey, or vanish.
You must obey, or
learn to die of shame."
And so—
the body folds itself inward,
like paper, like
a breath no one will miss.

Do you feel it?
The guilt—
its slender fingers
tightening, as if around
the throat of a world.
The shame—its small
knife-point etching
names you did not choose
into the chest.
The way the chest carries it—
silent, but
with the weight of centuries.

"Tell the story," they said.
"Make it better.
Make it sing." But
their mouths are full
of echo, their threats
like waves breaking
against a cliff you can’t stop
dreaming of.

I want to write the dirt.
The cuts.
The razors in their perfect arcs.
I want to write the gods
that were not gods, the voices
that were not mine.
The grace—
noose-like, tightening—
but not the gilded lie
of endings.

Instead, a fire:
its single purpose,
its clear burning.
Not to erase, but to
scar. To carve me
out of this
bleached photograph, this
ghost-sky still
blistering my hands.

Let it end in the crackle of ash,
the body emerging—
not whole, but here,
a scarred brightness walking
into the unfinished dawn.
Everyone seems to be writing about their growing up, I decided to share a few, could be a bit tough to read.
 Dec 2024
irinia
monsters unleashed I fear
light might freeze on our faces
and what a rush to be generous
an eden of objects, a living emptiness
all in the name of christmas
merciless the geopolitics of hatred
this is not a poem but sheer rage
when streets explode under our feet
exhausted by words turned into death sentences
 Dec 2024
Nemusa
We the nobodies, shadows cut from the cloth of smoke and scars,
a fever of sweat and darkness pooling, tears of sorrow swallowing tomorrow.
They locked us in silence, mad minds forging new words, wild and sharp,
each syllable slipping from sanity’s grip, each sound a breath clawing free.

Everything slides in time, the tick-tock mocking us, echoes like footsteps
down the hallway of closed doors, promises that never open.
See you on the other side, they said, where death waits like a lover,
the kiss of a fist, sweet baby girl, sleep—don’t listen,
we’ll wait before sharing the truth, its teeth bare and grinning.

The mania whispers in dark corners, shakes the bones from rest,
and a thousand thoughts slice through, a razor storm beneath quiet skin.
Blood seeping down thick thighs, warmth trickling like proof—
still alive, still fertile with fear, birthing only dread.

He could never hear her, she screamed into an endless void,
her voice a smear, red stains across cold walls.
And no peace wrapped her, no quiet settled in,
only the whisper of madness, and the promise—
of a darker dawn to come.
 Dec 2024
irinia
a world in motion and who would,
who could guess the next rhyme
bliss, hope, and horror
tyrants falling, resisting, raising
fresh terror in sheep's clothing
these are mental wars, fake news tsunamis
feasting in our blood in our sweat in our tension
the invaders possess our minds, our souls
these are reality games, the most dangerous
who cares about facts or consensual reality
humiliation, helplessness, loneliness
manipulated in the transition between nothingness to utopia
an acid destroying the human form and social body
they can feel again after a long apathy the call to heroic action
let's not be afraid, the tyrant is inside and we kind of know it
I look at the face of nothingness, of dread
no power no reason no words
dread is alive too
"gigantic lies and monstrous falsehoods can eventually be established as unquestioned facts, that man may be free to change his own past at will, and that the difference between truth and falsehood may cease to be objective and become a mere matter of power and cleverness, of pressure and infinite repetition"
Hannah Arendt
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