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Is your soul fabricated of The ***** Gore Vidal depicted? Is morality subjective?
Or do you find your truth in Atlas' Shrug? William Buckley's perspective
Marie Antoinette, she said without fret, there's no plight just let them eat cake
Then she ate all of it, and with her soiled wit, her head was the people's to take
James Madison's stake, was to assure we make, the rich to be the priority,
He said without them, the poor are condemned, so there's no room for quarrels morally

Yet I ask you to ask, I beg that you mind
The Guillotine falls, and that's by design
From the top it tumbles, cleaving the wicked
The evil, the malicious, and I pray the indifferent
Now that we've exposed the existential farce of Satan,
It can be said Man created the devil,
Not as a god but in our own wretched likeness,
With no scapegoat for our innate commitment to evil

Inherently malicious with Benevolent aims,
As we wonder, we wander, and unwillfully wane
Shout out to Dostoyevsky
A petty foolish man holds the diamond in his hand,
At less allure and worth than the opal in the sand
Your beautiful mind is shrouded by our abyssmal surrounding
The jarring ruckus composed of voices with nothing to say, comitting lustful and spiteful acts just as confounding
You buzz around the gun shots in the night from the heated exchanges of the afternoon, and relish spreading the news in the morning
Yet we all hate the mourning

Your thoughts float along a tributary of violence, carrying too much weight not to be dragged under by the venomous current
And you love it

If only one ambition I could bring to fruition, if only one purpose I would be a leal servant
It would be to abruptly uproot you from this concrete savannah,
this rolling plain of debauchery,
this collaboration of skullduggery,
this tundra of treacherous trollops

And replant you firmly in view of the sun,
You see her in the coffee shop
Out of local mainstream
Sipping her black coffee
In her skinny gray jeans

You see her ambling round town
In the places no one goes
Her wild auburn hair
Hiding the white earphones, the players
Of music, only exclusive to her
Like a band at its first gig

You see her in food stores
Drifting between aisles
With an aura of mystery
Where she buys only coffee and kale

You see her browsing thrift stores
Picking out clothes
White shorts, button downs, black tights
You know she can afford more, but
You know that this is her style.

The style of the hipster.
Just an experimental piece ☁
 Feb 2017 Martin Bailes
Ben At93
I confess to everything,
To all the lies I've told,
Pain I've caused
And happiness I stole,

I confess to everything,
All the stolen nights,
Memories ruined,
And all the good byes,

I confess to all of it,
And wasted time,
I'll take all the blame,
If it'll once again make you mine,
Addicted your love...



need you...
need your heart...
need your body...
which i housed and became my eternal city...
need your sympathy...
your mercy...
and your love...
which it exceed all lovers' passion..

sweet lovely dreamy girl...
i lost myself...
as i lost the safety and the peace...
lost mercy and a sympathy...
even my breathes runs away from me...
through this absence...
while i been away...

need the safety which left me after this absence...
need your mercy which is has no limit...
need your breathes to relive my heart again...
need your warm feelings and more love...
need more reality to live inside me...
because i addicted to your love...
addicted a looking into your eyes...
its my beautiful world...
which i sail in with no shores...
which drives me with no stop...
which gives me the sweet of love...
with you only i am so drunk...
drunk with you and your love...

sweetheart...
your love, can't live without..
addicted to you and to this love ...


by : hazem al jaber ...
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