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manicsurvival Jun 2016
I've done ecstasy.
No, I have not done
But I've done you.

I've felt you baby,
You're not here,
But I remember

How it hit me quickly,
Heightened my obsession
With you,
Stroking my leg,
Telling me to cheer up,
Treating me the same.

I know ecstasy baby,
It's in the middle of the night.
Silent to everyone but me,
Sirens and cellos:
This music touched me
And I felt it grace my arm.
manicsurvival Jun 2016
Florida saw a stormy weekend.
Buckets of rain
Poured out of the sky,
We did not yet know
That those pouring buckets over
Our heads,
Were angels.

A short drive away,
49 full souls broke
Into shattered pieces
Of memories and

Safety and security evaporated,
Into the sky,
Among the ascending
Spirits of cut-short lives.

Treacherous storm, Florida,
The sun says hello,
Shortly after its short nap.
The sun woke up and
though its beams pressed on the earth,
things were darker now.

Through the rain,
The sun shined an illuminating
For 49 empty bodies
To dance on,
To bounce off the colors,
Feel one final breath of air;

Reaching freedom that humanity
for so long refused to grant them.
For the 49 people whose lives were taken by hatred and evil.
manicsurvival Feb 2016
I am surrounded by white
walls, they smell like
cleaning supplies.

An angel sits at a desk,
phones ring,
they sound like chaos.

I have been standing here
for two years.
I still have not approached
the angel.

For two years,
I swore she did not

Now I am ready
to tell her that
this cannot wait any longer
that I have finally died.

I am terrified at my
broken self.
My soul has been entering
and exiting by body for
days now.

I need to walk up to the
I need to save myself
from myself.

I knew there
was no god
all along.
And now,
I am gone.
manicsurvival Feb 2016
Local government, wretched round, which
everyone claims to care about.

A storm. A virus. Unprovable. they call it “some sort of new device”--
it is nothing new.
Facebook videos condemn the 1 percent, demand that we look up;
I regret not looking up...I know this.

I catch his eye.
There is no complacency; he called it war.
Little boy. He cries to his mother.
He cannot fight the thought.

Catastrophic moments like explosions on an endless row.
“something that tracks us…”
We are not all safe.
Without guidance we crave “more”,
some regret it; we were told desire is fatal.

It swish swirls in
the valley of trees;
his last stroll.

He does not know to
catch the shred of a breeze.
Who knew that moment
would doom us all.
manicsurvival Dec 2015
and for a brief moment
i swore that the world i had once knew
would never return to its complacent being

the elusivity of time had made its way into
my brain and suddenly,
we all realized nothing had mattered in the slightest
manicsurvival Dec 2015
They say "you can't go home again"
I dismissed the thought; believed that I could return to the town that I once
rode through on my beach cruiser,
walked through with my friends,
utilized poor construction sites as makeout spots

"I've come home", he sings
but if there is one thing that I believe my mother was right in saying is
that this is all geography

That perhaps is the scariest thought of all;
that I don't yet know where by home is or who will fill rooms with music
and enjoy the elusiveness of life with

I've come home
but not in the way he means it
I have come home to my teenage broken heart--and its perpetrator
I have come home to a house where I was on month-long bed rests
I have come home to a structure that is seemingly not mine

I suppose I wish it wasn't true;
that you can't go home again
and things are ever changing...
that is something we must accept as we grow older

When I truly think about it though, I don't know that I would want to return to my once "home"

I think I just wish I had one.
manicsurvival Dec 2015
wean me off of consumerism's
cure to my chemical chaos
dim the lights
i am still awake

this ride is no longer free
you are suffocating
i am still awake

swollen eyes
hidden motives and one week later
i am in the same bed
with the same fears
in the same solitude
that brought me here

no longer a choice
seemingly the only form of vitality
i am still awake

i cannot hear you
this silence is screeching
your voices are lost

you always said you could not save me
i do not remember agreeing to believe it
i lay here and i believe it

would you have changed anything
i am still awake

this is torture.
i am still awake

do you care?
i am paralyzed in my silhouette
i do not know how
i am still awake

you never listened.


i can hear you
you are liberation

i finally woke up
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