In the end
Life numbs YOU
Why are you pushing me away?
With this final masquerade
Given UP
In pieces
Crawling away
I am powerless
Bringing me One step closer
To Somewhere I belong
With Heavy heart
What I've done?
LOVED YOU..!
I'm a paper-cut survivor
Let me bleed it out
Let me burn it down
I've no more sorrow
What's this new divide?
I'm Breaking the Habit of LIFE
Shadow of the Day elongating
I'm Waiting for the end
I remain the messenger of LOVE
Lying for YOU from life
Guilty all the same
From the inside
Let me crawl back in your life
In the castle of glass
Give a Place for my head
Otherwise I'll be gone
I'm out of time now
Traveling the roads untraveled
With black heart
I am rider of the storm
Living the Battle Symphony
Burning in the skies
So don't let down me
I'm victimized
So slow Ya roll
Let me hit the floor
Away from lies greed misery
See Inside me
In the end we made it
with YOU
I LOVE In the end
**
Love can save our LIVES

A tribute to Chester Bennington
Best song listings
In the end Chester wanted LOVE
LOVE could have saved his life...

Burlesque fatuous is the implication of your emotional daily pretentiousness. I am seldom, otherwise a psychopath, able
to own fraternity which I can't
discernment or jester because there is an art to love and murder And it's a conventional edit to your own dullness. I am vivid,
Debris to impersonation.
I am absent but identical
to thin air. I am a Prometheus
Arabian night in Lysistrata premise.
My words may remind you of the day I held your eyes in infinite cluster. Perhaps my love isn't enough for you to understand. For example, the glassed vain is paralysis iridium illicitness which is svelte to inadmissible synthesis.
The cloud let are torsion, assail with cypress and impossible solariums; and the propane was a sensation of disjointed loveliness.
Every time I go for a walk, mosquitoes understand my lonely talks because they sip my blood at a quarter past ten but these glazed roads scrutinized my wrist, escorted vernal preposterous blue/purple relentless ghostly cheekbones.
Thought I could festive the blaze among the cedar bridge road
but take a pause and look at my skin and thighbones,
Preterists to flowered unless I smile and tell you
"This is heartbreak"

Unable to keep up with your facetiousness, personality failed me temporarily. Mind melting in a moment of dissonance,
This cognitive refrain refracts the 'I' that oscillates accordingly.
One's morphology, tuned to its own metric of change.
Hypnos whispers and sleep beckons, taunting insomnia (which makes a mockery of all humans) but Morpheus has no time for anything less than grandiose archetypes.
Last night I may have dreamt or drunk some foolish things, told people the truth untruthfully, let slip more than I should have.
What a pity, secrecy. They say
information wants to be free.
Who lingers in the details?
Past memories are liberated only by the present. I stand here in the downpour, soaking it all in.
Compassion, god is in the rain.
My fulgurite heart resting on the palm of a deity, at a tilt, slowly it's sliding off; when it fell I gasped.
The reflection of wide eyes in each of its atria, emotion flowing through these venae cavae, those
dilated eyes shimmered before it shattered, gleaming with passion. Us, in the blink of an I.

written on May 13th, 2017.

"where day is....an opening door'

black lined eyes,
purple-red lips
cheeks of rose
and broken petals,

summer sings of
green feverish leaves,
of a hot sun, of my
longings.

twisting lizard
scales not skin
iron-like, unhinged
and re-hinged, threadbare,

cardboard sun, smartly
stitched like a brown bear,
woken from a trembling
night of crimson stars,

torn up paper, song
of love, hot bird,
sparrow at an angle.

loving you

I've
become so numb

I can't feel you there,

I've become
so tired

so much more
aware,

by becoming this,
all I want
to do

is be more

like me

and be less

like

you.

I feel numb too, Chester Bennington. I wonder where you are now.

Numb
-- Linkin Parks

07/21/17

Cut the year up
Boil and bleed it dry
It divides so neatly
Quarters have never hurt us

These streets are bald
Polished grey shutters
The best money can buy
Protect the glass, keep it clean

Please ring your bells
I feel hungry now
Just have a look at the mess you've made
Are you happy?

Go right ahead
Put me in a box
Do you know if I'm dead or alive?
Neither do I.

Boilers is a name I use for people who boil everything down, or attempt to, to the fundamentals, ruining the mystery and wonder behind whatever they've boiled down.
Science, although I'm a fan, can destroy art if we're not careful! If we take our knowledge-seeking too far, the beauty of art can be tarnished.
The last two stanzas are a more irregular shape to show the boiling down and deformation of 'art'. Each stanza has 22 syllables in them besides the last, which has 21, which demonstrates that the rhythm--art--is ruined if we break things down too far.
We break down the things that exist naturally (years), and that leads to things slowly becoming boring (bald), leading to corporate and dull and transparent, then we pick apart the humans and condition them (hence the Pavlov's dogs reference), then the metaphysical (Schrodinger's cat reference). Inside the box we're also dead, as we're placed with places with predetermined barriers.
I tried to write something deep at least.

but the way you look at me
splits the ground beneath me
&
if i am the dying light of the sun,
you are what consumes me

hi :)

I'm scared of the tears

that I don't cry

The days like this

that I don't die

I'm scared of the pain

that slips my mind

It comes back harder

than what I left behind

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)

Feels good to write again.

Thank you everyone for your support. (:

my heart is
             your city,
you wander
               its streets
                               constantly

Originally added the line, "searching for the path
that leads to my memories" at the end
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