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 May 2019 hypnopunk
mel
oh, but look at what grew

all because of the dirt
that they once threw
(our souls were meant
to bruise in galaxies too)
send my mind away to the crows.
their ****** will grow and feed off my guilt,  there's no will in a way of destruction and pain. so much hate in my brain my heart takes the thrill. if it was a trip then I'm overdue, if it's all was my fault then my fall out is true, there is no point for my doubts to break through, as though I'd thought I could outlive the moon,
look . . . . the birds are resting just a few miles away,
I hooked . . . . my thoughts to a line that could go either way,
breathe . . . .  and yet all it releases are thoughts of unease,
saved . . . . thousands of worries I hope would be freed.
and yet all I've learned is livid souls can't survive, and there's more impulsive acts due to pain in the night, as if when the sun goes down we run out of reason, and the darkness within us becomes more alive.
if in the time being, the pain is still eaten, am I a free man or a one within treason?
if the joy that I get is from moments of numbness,
have I received it or faked my own freedom?
be honest....
this is all I've written for a few weeks. i know it isn't that good but life has been really hard lately so I tried my best.
all feedback is welcome and appreciated
 May 2019 hypnopunk
Kevin
Our lampshades at midnight shine like amber moonlight,
like late august and amethyst; brief pulses of electric-cotton bliss.

They brand our bodies like ***** poppies
in the newest blue before the sunrise.

Dear, lay still as we shelter inside this warmth
Stay silent through the night, lest you need to speak.

If so, then whisper with your palms cupped 'round my skull
So i may feel your syllable kisses dance past the hair of my ear

To feel and know that this not be a dream
if YOU are reading this (YOU know who YOU are), this was also written for you.
 May 2019 hypnopunk
mikarae
the lights are buzzing
and my ears are stuffed with pollen
yet i can still hear the hive of bees in the ceiling.

the lights are buzzing
strobing against walls of alabaster and tiles of ***** white
neon and drunk off of the ticking of the clock.

the lights are buzzing
they carve out slivers of eyelashes
and slide flickering fingers to rest along the chin of despondency.

the lights are buzzing
their uneven beat is perfect melody
to the crying in the hall, outside waiting room 23.
they keep me numb, an empty shell with twitching fingers and vacant eyes.
 May 2019 hypnopunk
will19008
and wept no shadow flowers
when all burst autumn
the course of nature changes,
flux enough to burst the waters

and wept no shadow flowers
all becoming, then, light
within this garden of colours
rich with the hills' laughter

those hills, that laughter
that world, recalled like a baby
lying still beneath the trees
without any summer
 May 2019 hypnopunk
mel
you were born with
a gift in your bones
this world is shapeshifting
from your light alone
and it’s lining your vessel
with gooey lovetones
that are dripping pure gold
on to all you have known
you are gleaming with meaning
you are a multidimensional being
who thinks every thought
to create all you’re seeing
you are strong and redeeming
there is nothing weak about you
you pump never-ending value
feel your strength as it climbs
from your cosmic enzymes
they are dancing inside
singing out an endless love song
that “you’re right on time
 May 2019 hypnopunk
will19008
I face this gray and solemn light
but still I live, with all my might
And when the days turn long and bright
I think that I would find it nice

I hate this season’s crystal hand
baring trees and freezing land
To have someone who understands
I think that I would find it nice

I track the slippery streets alone
Hope for hope, but I find none
I pray aloud that she’ll come home
I know she’d ease this grip of ice

And I think that I would find it nice
This is a poem that I just found among my college notes, written in autumn, 1979, and now residing on foxed and yellowing college-ruled paper raggedly torn from a spiral bound notebook.  I almost remember writing it... #40years #susan
 May 2019 hypnopunk
martha
a lukewarm promise uttered
beneath blankets
under covers

"I will" becomes "I won't"
a fading memory of don't
forget to try

creep back inside
deny it's absence
"never mind"

how slowly does a hope unfold
sheets as thin as angel hair
whose seams get used to growing old
and break the back of taking care

this time
cup with both your hollow palms
let them trace pathways
crave trails too tough to wander down

make maps of nooks and corners
crevices and borders
holding back floods
of handheld dams

begging
breathing

release
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