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Graff1980 Mar 2019
For the illusion
of a love lost,
the delusion
that love costs
some steep
sacrificial price,

She would burn
this shallow life,
slit the throat
of those she knows
to hear the note
of honest hearts
gurgling in
their skepticism.

For the sake of
the lie called love,
that chemical drug
she is feening for,
that sad score
that doesn’t
really exist anymore,
she would restore
the weaknesses
she once deplored
and explore
any other bit
of madness
to get this
******* back
even though
it was never
what she thought it was.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
Ain’t no peace
cause its a
hurricane,

ain’t no river
but an ocean
of pain,

and all that is left
is a tornado
of rage.

A bulge in the cement
that is ready
to crack the ****
while swelling waters
prepare to run over
another innocent man.

Raging waves
ruin everything,
leave devastation
across the barrens.

Silence broken with the sob of
parents who lost their loved ones,
as they count the cold corpses
that clutter our nightmares.

We cry out into the void
for some sort of relief,
beg for mercy
from some higher being
but no one is there.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
Thirteen years
younger than me,
and I’m remembering
a little chubby face boy.

Sweet little kid,
I missed
most of his
life.

Not mine
but still
I can feel
the loss.

We are impermanent
passing this firmament,
but I did not expect to
outlive this younger dude.

Last time I saw him
was maybe nine or ten
years ago.
Man, he had grown.

Now he memorialized
on stone,
leaving his mother alone
to raise her grandchild.

Adrift in the dust,
I know that it must
come to pass.

Cause soon enough
that will be all of us,
but that logic
doesn’t make it easier
to appease the fear
of grief to come.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
She does not impress
but is built to vex me.

Liquid movement
gelling,

Dancing angelically
as if she has wings
to soar,
dropping
several soft feathers
but still wearing
a thousand more.

Yet I bet
though slender she be,
she could easily
devour the entirety
of my being,
and I would submit
gratefully.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
The morning makes
me come to wake
and take
the same
mundane
trip.

On the road
I follow those
who rush into
a blurry flurry
of winter weather
that moves
water across the sky.

In their wake
white wisps
of snow smoke
move across the highway,
like cold specters
with nowhere to go.

Heater fogging up
my driver side window,
as a white wasteland
which is partially punctuated
by small protruding
black rocks
become jagged streaks
then nothing but
poetic etching to me.

On time to work
though I wish
I had stayed home
hugging my warm
electric blanket
as I read some eclectic
literature.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
With a wrinkled face
scorned by age,
you work and scrimmage
to try and save
your wage
for the better days to come.

Tired and betrayed
you see change
rushing from
the power of some
who want and take
the things you make.

By force of will
and money
they legislate
for the sake
of profits,

and we feel powerless,
like our voices have been stripped.
We feel as if
we are crippled
by the likes of that which
gives them power;

But there is power in a voice.
There is strength in a choice.
There is a gift in
giving compassion,
actions
that takes the harshness
of life and lessens
with lessons
and examples
of kindness.

You find this
in the giving of time,
the sharing of food,
while listening to
a lonely dude,
or stopping to help
strangers in need.

You may not see
the positivity
generated.

You may feel as if
it doesn’t mean ****,
as you watch all those crooks
shift and twist
the masses into
a hateful mob.

But that’s not
all you got,
there is more power
to be found
if you look around
and help those
who are down.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
“Its just too much.
Its just
too ******* much,”
she thinks.

As she drinks
a thick liquid
filled with
the pills
she feels
will make her
cease to feel
anything.

Specifically, perfected
the pills that she selected
we’re taking by design
to stop her body
and her mind.

With the last bits
of her energy
she gently sweeps
her cats out of
the rooms where she
plans to sleep
eternally.

“Don’t want you guys
to eat my face,
while my rotting corpse
attract a lot of flies,”
she says with a cynical
chuckle.

Consciousness edging out
she slits her wrists
to hedge her death bet.

Then she collapses,
a bridge broken
under the pressure
of three years
of compounding pain,
disappointment,
and heartbreak.

Almost two days later
she awakes
to a numb face,
and clumsy brain.

Drained,
she stumbles in vain
to get cleaned up
and go to work.
Does everything
but
shaves her legs.

She checks her pain
physically nothing hurts
but emotionally
she cannot ascertain
anything with any
certainty.

Still, struggling.
With doubt
but she reaches out
to her mother,
and finds a way to
connect to another
as her small circle
draws her
back to a life
she is still not sure she wants.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
She is in part
a viper,
a poisonous plague
upon my heart,
venom spitter
dark adder
damming me
from a distance,
crumbling my
resistance.

She is dangerous
but I do not mind,
I find I like that kind
of danger.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
The lesson is
we are not less then
other men
but different
in our radiance.

Some may shine bright
while others wear a light
that is on another spectrum
one that most humans
are not even looking for.
Graff1980 Mar 2019
Two miles away
from a much needed
toilet break,
my stomached churned
as I turned
down a busy road.

In tattered rags
his body laid curved
in an unnatural angle
against a brick wall,
while two strangers
surrounded him.

I am certain
he was hurting
or dead
but I did not stop
to help,
merely drove on
till the sight
was long gone
so, I could relieve myself.
Graff1980 Oct 2018
The bright white headlights
pierced the quiet night sky,
catching the hazel eyed
strange passerby,

the unsuspecting figure
who was crossing the road
by the beautiful pathway
that lay straight next to
a perfect beach view.

There, solid metal struck
with an unsettling thud,
the fleshy form
of that adolescent.

As expected
when metal meets
meaty flesh,
that young man flew
if just for a second or two,
then tripped over the side rail
and fell.

The driver accelerated
moving quickly away
not wanting to face
the consequences
of this crash,

while further down
on wet and sandy ground
a human being
struggled to move
in hopes of being seen,
and saved.

Each breath agony,
persisting only in the hopes of living,
but never found salvation’s answer.
Graff1980 Sep 2018
Nobody knows the
the darker corners
of my decrepit soul,

a stale and stinky
nasty shrinking
***** of abstraction,
that is less than
a fraction
of nothingness,

a shadowy space
where people cringe
and strangers displace
their rage
till tension and resentment
fill this smelly place.

Nobody knows
that my heart
does not grow
but disposes
of the red roses,
dripping paint
of crimson pain,

beatings
taken in exchange
for struggles
and anguish,
pumping out plump
plumes of poetry
and prose
to express the truth,

that nobody knows.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
Tis a fear,
elegantly etched
in the sketch
played in
my dreams,

chaotic scene
that came
unbidden
to unlock
the hidden.

At first it was
slightly amusing
viewing
an old time
tv crush of mine
Samantha from Bewitch
who with a twitch
of her cute nose
could cast a spell.

But then it shifted
as I tucked a sheet in
an old brown couch
with my dearly departed grandma.

***** trick to play you see,
I awoke mournfully,
aching with the memory
of a loss that happened
less than six years ago,

whilst fearing
losses nearing
and yet to come.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
There she sits in
a cement structure
that is
scarred by the torture
of poverty
and mother nature.

Her deep brown eyes
stare from a
broken glass window,
pondering
the growling
disposition
of her stomach.

Till, it becomes
just some noise
she forgets to hear,
and the feeling
becomes
some numb
buzzzzzzzz
in the back ground
of her exhausting
existence.

She is a still specter,
a powerful presence
in a place I have never seen,
memorialized for my
consumer eyes
by a photographer.

Hopeful humanist,
Howard G. Buffet
presents this
stark truth to me
in a photo reality.

So, all this fluff poetry
is an artistic assumption.
What gumption
I have to put words
to a world that
I have never been to,
seeing the starving children
while I am stuffing
my comfortable face.

She is symbolic of
human beauty and grace
in times of struggle
while I am a product
of comfort, excess, and human waste.

How do these
two extremes
exist
in the same
time?
Graff1980 Apr 2019
The flowery fruit fell
into the briny blue
sea froth,
and saw the tides
pull it farther from
the tree on the cliff
that was once
its home.

There it went
recently wind swept
into the red depths
that swelled
and dwelled
on the edge of
some underwater
coral bed.

But there were
little clown fish
that swam by
and nibbled a bit,
there was
soft tangles of seaweed
that occasionally
stalled the trip,
and above there was
a shimmering spectacle
of light bent
but still coming in.

I to
was once
a sweet fruit
born of beauty's
looming sorrow,
not living for today's harvest
but grieving
for the thieving
loss of all
my tomorrows.

Until,
I forgot about the light.
Then all my fears came clear
and consumed my
sea faring soul.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
Please let this
little lullaby
get you by
tonight.

The stars still shine
but behind your
blackened eyes
and bruised skin
I can see
my spirit's kin,
secret shadow
still weeping.

More than words,
no less than
actions
are needed to restore
all that was lost
but somethings
can never
be recovered
anymore.

I'll say goodbye,
take this life,
and let it slide
like the gambler
that I am.
I'll roll the dice
and let ride.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
You say
I neglect
the respect
that
your owed,

but you’re not
so just stop
cause I won't
do what
I'm told.

You may be proud,
but I'm not cowed
just cause you
shout that loud,

and the truth
that I gleam
from the way
that you scream
is that you’re not
what you wanted to be.

Your more like me
it seams
just struggling to be
heard and seen
on the same city streets.

The conclusion
I come to
is the same one
you run from,

we are all just
human beings.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
You strut
and cluck
like a grown up
chicken,

wine and moan
like something
is missing,

get ******
because
I keep dismissing
your unwanted
attention,

think your
some bad ***
spy
on a super-secret
mission,
but in the end
you'll get
no admission
to my inner dimension
because
you are not worth
the spit
I use
to shine
my shoes.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
There’s food in the kitchen.
The refrigerators humming
while the clock
keeps on ticking.
I got plenty to eat.
No one is starving here.
The heat is still running.
I won’t freeze tonight
so why then when I wake up
do my dreams make me
cry?

Most of my friends
are living
though a few
have moved on,
same can be said
about my family
except for the dead.

My car breaks down
every month
or every other,
and I can’t afford
to purchase another.
My job is forty-five
miles up the highway
so occasionally
I must stay with a friend
just to make it in
for my three to eleven
shift.

Got no woman yet,
and no good prospects
but I got lots to read
and tv shows to see
on my computer screen.

My health is decent.
My physique is ok
and as far as I can tell
tomorrow that won’t change,
so why is there something
that aches on the inside
and why when its quiet
do I have to try
not to cry?
Graff1980 Apr 2019
Life sounds of
strange percussion,
like the beats
and breaths
arrested
by the stress
invested
in your flesh.

Pressure
built up
by a system
that doesn’t give
any *****
for humans
with less than
a couple million
in foreign
assets
and more
in family trusts
and corporate
investments.

Sometimes
I seek the
cessation
of painful
impressions,
but to exist
and to listen
is to hear
the procession
of pain’s movement
pushing on
into a song
of humanity’s
progression.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
What is truth to this
stranger?

Winded widow
who walks past
shaded windows
where loved one
play out the day
in a familial way
while his pain
pulls him
in
other directions
like some
medieval
torture.

Emotional upheaval
as he struggles to
remember and forget
in the same instance.

Sorrowful
remembrances
causes
slight pauses
in his breath
and occasional
stares where
there is nothing left.

A poorly painted
green brick building,
intrudes
with its rude
presence
in a place
where he fails
to stop reflecting
causing a close
personal inspection
with his whole face.

Light green flakes
scrape
his stubble covered skin
forcing him
to be present again
and the dull ache
from his mistake
is something
he appreciates
because
he isn't forced to
recall what he’s been through
when he is dealing
with his newly chipped tooth
and ****** busted nose.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
Come on
Aquaman
and save me from
the American
super villain
we call the president,
because I am
drowning in
his *******
and sic sentiments.

Come back
Star Trek
cause I need to
return to
a more hopeful age.

Days where we had
open spaces
to play
and an infinite
realm of
possibilities,
all those
future realities
to dream about.

Now the limited
have taken
all the vacant
timelines
collapsing them
into mine,
where greater minds
are met with
disdain,
where people trust
the greedy and vain.

All my sci-fi
daydreams
for a better life
have become
a painful lie.
Graff1980 Oct 2018
The metal moves faster,
as he pushes the pedal down,
innocent urges shift from
first to second;
Moments of magic speed
with piercing wind
which he breathed in
almost syncing them
to his racing heartbeat.
The engine roars,
as he implores
time to take him
farther away from
everyone.
A sharp turn
turns him over
and as his car leaves the ground
he thinks
I am free.

The train chugs
along
moving at an
average pace
away from the place
he longs to escape.
Not as fast as the car
but this time
he gets much farther,
and enjoys the
tranquility
of seeing each city
slide by the side
and out of view
as he stares out
the train window.
  
The sea
opens up
as the boat
pushes forth into
a whole unknown
watery world,
as he moves farther
and farther
away from home
seeking
the freedom
of the unfamiliar.

Wings move him
away from the earth
and toward the heavens,
but it is never far enough away
for him to find
the freedom
he seeks.

Gravity is released,
as he looks
at a world below
with no
borders,
or countries
and though
he knows
he will have to go back
he turns around
to see the
bluish black
expanse
with white diamonds
that beckon him
to his freedom.

Years of pain
spent in a bed
as his frame
withers away,
followed by
a failing mind,
until the last day
when he finally finds
the freedom
he has been chasing
all his life.
Graff1980 Sep 2018
These are not the scars of a saint,
red rivulets run down my skin
like crimson tinted paint.

Scratches made in a state
of sorrow and frustration
anguish so deep
that the thought of facing
one more moment
becomes a daytime nightmare.

We steel ourselves
struggling against a beast
that will not fall,
but rages fiercer
then the fiercest forest fire
scorching all
and leaving
only one desire.

We seek the cold
or at least
a certain numbness
because there is
no softness
to our existence.

Broken
and bleeding
in the porcelain
bathtub
as red water
runs over
the edge
and we
succumb to
the eternal sleep.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
I don't care
if I burn
my brain out.

Even if
the pain comes
blaring in,
I’ll just block it out again
with slick distractions,
with the sick actions
of stimulant satisfaction.

Till, the fog
comes rolling back in,
leaving me drowning
in the sea of feelings
that requires
something stronger
to light the fire
that turns
the memories it burns
into ashes.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
The light shines in
through the window,
brightens up
the blue smoke,

and all I know
is a good ****
makes
me feel
less broke.

Spent six days
just staring
at nothing,
don't feel like moving
cause I'm despairing,
paring my pain
with some
***** and a joint.

I feel like ****
and smell
just like
I took a bath in it.

My specter like
reflection
is closer to perfection
then my
real life complexion,

And the point that
I'm making
is non-existent
just like my hope
for the next day is.
Fictional reflection of former states of severe apathy that became deep depression.***
Graff1980 Apr 2019
He is a stark
shadow stag
that stands
with a regal glare,
wearing red shades
of wet matted hair.

Heart broken
beating ventricle
bleeding
from the pleading eyes
that soften
from the loss of
blood.

Looking back
at the last path
this tall stag
left
finds impermanent
imprints
that led
the hunters
to him.

Like those tracks
the memory of the stag
is only passing,
like this poem
only lasting
for a flickering moment
in space and time.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
As hard as it sounds
when I push down
on the purple flesh
that presses up
I cannot stop
from wincing
just a bit,
of pursing my lips
in pain.

Though I try
to resist
the urge
to push it
I keep playing
with the parts
that hurt the most.

Just like how
I used to
come running
to you
when you needed
a shoulder
to collapse on.

When the ones
you loved were gone,
I would skip
happily, along
just long enough
for you to move on
to the next abusive
**** who would
use ya.

You hurt me,
but I kept
coming back gratefully
ready to be wounded again
and again
in the zone of the friend
cause I must of enjoyed
the hurting.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
The sun brings
harsh rays
of today's
heated frustration,
hot footed
to the point
of burnt and flaking
skin,

dehydrated
to the point
of pale pallor,
a practically porcelain
face guarded by
the scratchy hay hat.

Dry desert madness
makes your mind
forget itself
as well as
all previous times.

No name,
no camel,
no water
only the illusion
of an oasis
waiting a thousand steps
outside of
each step
you take.

It shimmers
and fades,
moving in time
pressing itself
against the horizon
as you pursue
the fantasy
of what you would do
with all that water.

Drawn on
as the lie
overcomes your
hazy mind,

"Just one more step,

jes one more step,

jes one mer step,

jes one mer...."

till your body forgets
how to take
another step
and your falling,
sleeping as the wind sweeps
sheets of sand
above your body
where no will
ever find you.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
She is a foreign delicacy,
delicious mind
I find
in lines of poetry.

A definite reality,
but I imagine she
scribbles out verses
veraciously,

places each of these
in this internet society,
exchanging altered perceptions
for artificial digital connections;

Full fruit flesh
rich with juicy wetness,
deep thoughts
of deliciousness
as I wonder
about the wonder
of such a creative being.

The plate is mine,
a porcelain palate
open to dine
on one delicate
verb at a time.

To dance and unwind
in the way the words
unroll themselves,
unthreaded yarn
ready to re-roll
and then unfold
once more.

I am a friendly
interloper
there
where
I go to explore
weird worlds
I have never seen before,

and this is
a rough draft
of gratitude
to that fact.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
Whether we
once plump
and juicy fruits
wither on the vine
like grapes to raisin
or rise in
comparison
to the splendor
of the morning
horizon,
that lovely light
which beckons
moon burnt hearts
to brighter days?

Whether we let our gaze
consume the days,
feeling warm tidings
of flesh rising
to potential fullness
instead of previous flattened
passions?

Whether we
live or die
matters not
to the celestial bodies
that paint
the infinite night sky.

In fact, somedays
when my mood sways
to darker ways
it matters not one bit
if all the wit
of humanity
just slips
into the dark abyss.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
I am playful,
but impatient
and facing
my impatience
is costly,
costing
time and
self-amusement
for general
****** damage.

A fun run
forgets the bits
that stick out.
So, I trip
over the rusted
metal crap that
is bent in
a worming fashion
trying to rise from
the blacktop,

things that were meant to
hold concrete
pieces in place
to face
and stop
cars from moving
too far in
to the building.

This protrusion sends
me tripping,
skin scraping
through thin pants,
bruising and bleeding
the knees I am needing
to keep on moving.

I'm up in an instant
limping like an old man
with stiff arthritic legs.
Graff1980 Apr 2019
Sometimes
these colors
overwhelm me.

Like Vincent I see
swirling streaks
of light that weeps,
crying out into
the night’s darker hues
for some sort of relief.

Sometimes the gravel grays
slip away
into a distant haze
as I turn my face
toward the
moist shimmering greens
that shuffle back in forth in the wind.
Their shades shifting slightly
as the sun’s
silver reflection
moves with them.

Red wet apples
with white insides
draw the drool
from my desire
as I devour
all the flavor
and juice
that I can savor.

On rainy days
I can view
the upside reality
of my world
slightly muted
and muddled
by ripples
from raindrops.

Occasionally, I dream
in black and white
but when I
get back to my life
that world is
still new and bright,
as long as I
take the time
to shift the perspectives
that shade my already
tinted tainted mind.
Graff1980 May 2019
Pretty pink fingers
play the ivories
that speak to me.

They used to move
more than mere thoughts.
Now, they bend me
more generously
to old aching memories.

Soft concerto,
like the fluttering
of ornate
butterfly wings
going up,
up, up,
and away
to the blinding sun.

Till, the glare
of time
takes each chorus;

Till, the piano
loses all its keys,
and all those
lovely reminiscence
are locked
away from me
for eternity.
Graff1980 Oct 2018
The red wax lips
never drip
or even melt,
so, I merely
chewed on them,
enjoying
the strange
flavoring.

Tiny penny
tootsies rolls
were not as good as
the ones
my grandma made.

Little colored
laffy taffy
made me wacky
when I tried
to tell
the jokes
from the wrapper.

Zero bars
were better then
the musketeers
but not the
almond mounds.

Easter chocolate
and jelly beans,
makes my mouth water
even now.

Those sugary treats
cause me
to salivate
greatly,
even from the corners
of my memories.
Graff1980 Sep 2018
It is a deluge of thoughts
that rush through
a brain that struggles
to contain,

a treat of glass
figurines
that stand straight up
set to crash
and be smashed
to smithereens.

To be crushed
by the immensity
of all things
that can
and will be
even a case
of
the was
and never was.

A bowl
filled
more than thrice
to the brim
with all of life

Heavy
and dripping
from the sides
all that overflows
is what
we write.
Graff1980 May 2019
The synapses are singed,
dead dendrites
no longer
come to life
with the chemical fire
of neurotransmitters.

Blood flow is
restricted
like it has been classified
by the FBI,
not even tiny particulates
can get through it,
all that is left
are clogged arteries
and a delicious
cheeseburger death.

The rich interwoven tapestry
that use to be me,
the strange tributaries
of plasma,
the slick switch board
that birthed
consciousness,
full bodied sensations
intertwined
with my complicated mind
making me
the cosmic being
that I am;

has slipped the restraints,
this thing lost its name
and now is labeled
Mr. Nobody,
the disconnected
butchered body
of broken flesh,
the rotting mess.

Call in the Doctor
causes the nurses all left.
Then from some
dark corner
bereft of breath
a shade stealing figure
mister death
comes to collect the debt
of life.
Graff1980 May 2019
I did not ask
for my eyes to burn,
to dry up and scratch
as I look at the back
of my eyelids.

I did not miss this
mystery
that sat before
the collapsing curtains,
as pink light poured
through the skin
to my pupil
causing a micro
cosmic dilation,
like a big bang
in my eyeballs
as my hazel
irises rushed away
from the growing
black blank space.

Then when I tried
to pull the lids up
I could hear
the sound of suction
and feel
the bruising ache
of a lifetime of
untreated eyestrain.

How the day hurt.
I have felt worse
but the confusion
came intruding
when I realized
that the clouds
were purple
and those skies
were not ones
my eyes
had ever beheld
before.

Crimson colored
grass like strands
stood tall and
then bent back,
swaying swiftly,
with a harsh clacking
and in their movement
I heard
mother nature laughing.

It was a bitter chuckle,
laced with pain and rage,
followed by the crackle
of lightning becoming
thunder.
White lines split
this strange reality
like cracks
in a broken glass
mirror.

No animals,
no barking dog,
no flying dove,
not even
a single bug.
I’d happily settle
for some human being
but there was no one.

My mouth was dry
and the air was heavy
forcing me
to work harder
than normal to breath.
It was thick with
an acrid saltiness.

I could not find
the right time,
and reason
seemed to
loosen its grip
upon my fatigued mind.

There was a perfume
of rot riding
the air
like a lost surfer,
caught and cracked
then left after that
to feed the fishes
down below.

If I was Alice
I would understand
that this was
the strange land
through the looking glass.

If I was Dorothy
I would make haste
to get home
off this yellow brick road,

but this is not
a fairy tale
that fosters
brighter futures.

This must be hell
or as close as one can get,
and I would like to forget
all of it.

But I cannot seem to recall
anything at all
before I opened my eyes.
Graff1980 May 2019
A ***** yellow tarp
tries to cover up
an old piano,
but the wind
exposes
little ornate roses
that someone left
to mourn
the player
who has
succumbed to death.

The ivory keys
are cracked
and caked
with a thin layer
of dust.

No one has touched
this once treasured
instrument
in over a year.

In silence
the ebony keys
plead
to be played
just one more time.

But no one cares enough
to clean and caress
the keys
with the love
that each of these
things deserve.

No one remains
who ever heard
the elderly lady
finger out
the old gospels
she played for her church

The wooden frame
breaks with the waste,
wanting the compassion
of music,
for someone to use it.

For the soft flesh
of the young grandson’s
bare chest
as he leaned in,
letting it feel
the wonderment
that radiated from him
as he sat in awe
of the majesty of it all.

But the player is dead,
and the little boy has moved on.

He will only recall
the grandeur of it all
in dreams and poetry.
Graff1980 May 2019
The code is
encrypted
in the concrete
that has been
stained
dried crimson.

All that was in them
leaking out and about
dripping deep
dna markers.

The secret harkens
back to
the history
that birthed you.

Each chain
like a strand in
lonely islands
drifting in an ocean
of strange history.

Each particle
plugged in
its proper place
to become
part of your face.
or another attribute
that is uniquely you.

To take away
that code
would unglue
the truth.

It would rescind
the parts that
grow and mend
allowing us
to break
and remake
again
and again.

The spiral
spins in,
around,
and under
your skin.

Atoms
to cells
tissues
to organs.

Though,
such wonders grow
grand and beautiful beings,
It is only of passing fancy.

Tomorrow
it might be
the poetry of
space that makes
my thoughts swim.
Graff1980 May 2019
This is not pain
nor is it a verse
made for complaints.
It is merely a moment,
set in refrain
that occasionally
echoes
inside of my brain.

Time to die,
let it go,
nothing matters
entropy grows,
moments pass
and will not
come back.

So, let the flesh
become itself,
let my consciousness
recede from want
and need,
let the rot seed
the world we see
and let me
finally, be free
eternally.

Exclaims the fool
please let me rest
in peace.
Graff1980 May 2019
She wears no hair
but multi-colored
plumage
around her *******
and over her
womanhood.
A scaled tail
swings swiftly
back and forth
in the
sparkling infinite
whilst black bat
leathery wings
allow her
to slow the
inevitable
descent
into a
watery darkness.

The air becomes
a thick and
burning liquid
heavy with
ionic energy.

She moves fluidly
in this mercury
piercing
the puddle
with her
fast flicking finger.
Silver ripples
work their way
from within
to without.

A soft figure
falls in
the firmament,
till the ether
tightens around her
forming a bubble.

Oily rainbows
bend and swirl
in sick distortions
that are reflected
upon the slippery surface.

The black water below
cracks and separates
leaving her to face
another cosmic creature,
a hungry hole
vast and black.

A permeable chasm
of nothing
draws her
entire being
down into
the chaos.

Then she bends
with the fierce force
of gravity,
pulled and elongated
stretched, and separated,
screaming in agony
as she is shredded
faster then
the speed of light.

In this entropy
my dear dream
dies
a horrid death,
of meaninglessness.
Graff1980 May 2019
She told me that
she flirted playfully,
inebriated,
eyelids heavy with sleep
from the drinks,
and the Benadryl
plus, the melatonin
that he gave her.

Then he laid her
gently down
while she barely stirred
and made no sounds
other than the shallow
breaths of slumber.

He took her pants,
slipped her underwear
to the side
so, he could slide
inside
while she slept.

I wept with rage
as tears threatened
to consume my face.

She continued the tale;
Told me of how when she awoke
she did not move
or speak up
cause she was afraid,
and because
she was used to
being used up
that way.

A thousand mile away
I heard her say
all those things.

Then she said
he was coming over again.
That he knew better now,
and he was her only friend.
I was crushed.

I felt I had abandoned her
when she needed
someone to talk to;

But we are long distances buddies.
There was no way
I could just up
and walk to
her house to hang out.

So, alone in a world made of
shadows that say they love her,
then hurt her
she pardons each assault
bares each ****** insult
and heads back in
to the lion’s den
to risk said pain
just to have a friend
who isn’t
a thousand miles away.
Graff1980 May 2019
What drives you to hate
drives them to pain.

When compassion is
just a story
a mother
tells her
children
because life
presents
all evidence
to the contrary.

Man, it is scary.

What drives you to pain
drives some
to remain
vigilant and kind
guarding against
the influence
of malevolent minds.

Ice agents
cut up plastic water bottles
and destroy food
that was left for migrants.

Government officials
put young kids
in cages
while sending their parents
far away,
leaving them longing for a day
that may never come;

Meanwhile, there are people marching
in the name of love
while writers soar above
creating art
to open hearts,
emboldening
other humans
to be better.
Graff1980 May 2019
The questions
press deep in
to their depression.

Sees soft eyes
weeping,
with the secret
pains
they have been
keeping
within.

Breaths thinning
while others assume
they are grinning,
playing and winning
some modern
capitalistic game
of materiel gains,

but these humans
are feeling
deep pains.

So, I ask them
if they are okay?
Each one proffers
hollow smiles
hiding deeper griefs.
They remain silent
as if to speak the truth
would be their shame.

Some stay,
others leave
to wither more
each day,
whilst the rest
burn to ash
and blow away.
Graff1980 May 2019
I'm in love
with a lie
that is older than me,

and a hope
that is younger
than
the most recent spring;

Not a parroted dream
but a queen
of deep schemes
that parses out wisdom
and better poems
than me.

I'm in love
with a drug
that I create
everyday,
not pill
that some take
but the thoughts
that make
my mind great,

and the shadows
that I see
make me want
to believe
there is something
greater out there
that is in love with me.
Graff1980 Jul 2015
I’m gonna get a little bit *****
Before they bury me
Before the coffin carries me away
I am going to play
I am going to laugh
Makes others laugh
With one foot in the muck
Holler what the ****
As I splash like a child
Dancing in the mud
Graff1980 Nov 2014
It’s not like some city of angels
Were people will dangle
The peach pit in front of your ****
Even if you succeed in seeding them
With the greatest kernel of truth
They will still forget or despise you
Because people want to invested in
Living in
The normal or the cool instead of
Trying to find out how to be in love
With the strangeness of this life
How to keep on dreaming
Instead always demanding meaning
Graff1980 Sep 2018
Everyone knows
I’m a nice guy,
but underneath
the underside
there is a darker sky,
storms set to thunder
shocking lighting
firing from my eyes.

Heartbeat bursts
facing those
who are worse,
corpse kings,
killing the innocent
line of little children,
tiny kids
riding in hearses
while a state dupe
steps up and rehearses
how to serve the greed
of the already wealthy.

I am
the classic
good guy,
but you will see
the shivers
of angst
and anger
rise in me
even when
I am stifling
said rage.

I bite my
gums so hard
that my teeth
chip and crumble,
I watch fools stumble
as I rave and rumble
ready to fight,
but just before
my otherside
comes to
take your life
I let the hate
subside,
and give you
the gift
of insight
and one more night.
Graff1980 Sep 2018
Old blue jeans
haven’t faded yet,
still unblurred
as he moves
undeterred
by a painful past;

Slightly slumping,
shoulders sagging
like a soldier
who is dragging
his body back
from an unknown war.

Well earned
wrinkles on his face
are deeply ingrained
as deep blue eyes
shield a soft soul
from feeling
to cold.

Brown spotted skin,
but his hair is still black,
the pain is still there
in the past
as a matter
of facts
that others lack.

It is all superficial.
People can’t even see
the surface scars
that he hides
behind his sleeves.
Desert dry eyes
can no longer
sooth a parched heart.

Outside
of our ability
to perceive
is his grief,
strange subtractions
from his life
like his parents,
his friends,
and his wife,

All we can see
is a solitary
sad stranger.
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