Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
the whole idea
that you'd had
in three lines
or less
is much less
than a whole
thought.

so don't waste my time
don't waste my space
don't waste my life
waste your own
in lesser thought
and in lesser
idealism
than what's real poetry.

i've never thought
i'd read more ****
posted about some idea
than what i've read
on here
in there
just to pump some ******
deeper into my veins
to calm my nerves
and calm this pain.
******* over-analyzed thought patterns and less-thought out ideas.
i've had enough of this *******.  i've read better **** on bathroom toilet bowls.
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
it's been eating away at me for days
and days and days on end
until it's come down to this,
and it's made its way to spend
                                            time.
burning through my head in seconds,
in minutes, hours, and in space
i feel i could've used more wisely
than the space left for me to face
                where to put my books.


                                                             everything has its place,
                                                          and everything has a home.
                                                       everything lives, dies, is reborn,
                                                        so how're we ever truly alone?
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
there's more.
there has to be.
i want more,
but i don't see
why you talk
about life
and the walk,
the knife,
and the key
to really begin seeing.
seems freeing.
shackles and chains.  CLINK CLANK CLING.  shackles and chains.
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
the hole
in your filter
let's you speak freely;
ambiguously slandering,
cursing, and hurting
every person
you know.

the hole
in our friendship
isn't going to get smaller;
it widens as you speak more
and more of the disgust
and anguish
i had to go
through.

the hole
in your guitar
is a sure place for my foot;
its destiny's been written again,
and broken,
it shall ring the tunes
i'd tried to get
you into
before
it
all
fell
through
all
the
holes
in
our
friendshit
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
extroversion and furtherment
of inner realism.
left to drum
right on the funk
flowing, growing
in supplies
and in the eyes;
straight
to the soul
and back up the brain
for interpretation;
annihilation
of any idea
left overlooked,
and now hooked
on something else -
internal shift
in perception,
through productivity,
and out of longevity
this shall rise.
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
some other "yeah whatever"
and  the morning's on
another sound forming
in hopeless retribution
for a simple solution
to just any drag you find
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
outside ourselves:**

in the few, brief moments,
staying inside the outer edge
of this webbing we've woven
for the the sake of this game
that's created in itself.

for the spider,
as he calms the tension
across his line
as the wind blows,
swaying him sideways.
driven practically by survival
hopeless in a world made by others
he's getting caught-up in his own web;
he's never seen,
but not seeing through just his lenses
that cover the top of his head.

over, calmed now,
the tension's applied tenderly.
the treacherous passing of past
passer-bys past his masterwork,
the unluck ones
only eaten, digested,
and then forgotten.
horrifically in complete sync
with the idealism
that had dulled
every subjective idea he'd had,
the spider found what he'd needed;
some calming peace and serenity.
From the 'Memory Books:'  "Vol. 4, Speculation on this Perspective (and possible prospects)"
Next page