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nonsensical desire, confronted irrationality
unattainable aspiration, ugly ultimatum
status perceived, not of datum
distorted reality, blunt brutality

fear from retrospect, timid mentality
caring investors, issue relayed verbatim
nonsensical desire, confronted irrationality
unattainable aspiration, ugly ultimatum

lonely, no commonality
pensive, pounding cranium
demise of my own creation
fallen nature of mortality
nonsensical desire, confronted irrationality
rondel
Hollowed out ideas
Seem to grow a skeleton
when you're not around

I make changes in your voice
I hear what's not there
Among the white noise

And for the longest instant
I fear you look at me
The same way I look at you

Then I am reminded
By intense universal forces
I am upsetting the natural order
Ode to the sweet boy. It's not the best I have written, but had to get it out. it was clogging up my spiritual pipes ha.
Foot tapping
Hand shaking
Mind racing
Walls breaking
Strength taking
Nail biting
Head throbbing
Knees clattering
Life shattering

*Leave me,
Anxiety!
I saw claws that dug deep into my skin more like my soul,
they would't let go,
I tried to look up and I saw horns with thorns.
Every time they drew near to my face,
they pierced my flesh and blood dripped like a heavy rain.
This mysterious monster, fiend,
made a terrible screech which should me endlessly,
I could feel myself vibrating,
fear had gotten a hold on me,
its almost like I could hear myself screaming,
but know one could hear me,
eventually I woke up to realize it was only just a dream!
I hate nightmares, I had one like this last night and pray I never have it again.
It was
And then it wasn't.

And when it was
It was everything.

Nothing else could be because it was

And when it wasn't
It was nothing.

And now I struggle to remember that it ever was.
I can put words on paper,
They fit and  they rhyme
But I am not truly a poet
There is no definition
Yet still I am not.
I am not a poet
And I will always fail
For the same simple reason
Beliefs can be a poison.
My first poem without a rhyme or syllable pattern. Sometimes its hard to voice a thought when you give yourself those limits. That said, it totally felt weird.
Post script to Judge
Life
If scripted, play follows.
Script to actions?
Professional converters?
Chance or democratic?
Cotrolled by power?
Nature, sacred will?  
Or just  human error?
Post script to Judge.
2015-05-12
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