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Galbraith Frase Dec 2017
Give me happy pills,
Write me silly riddles
Let crybabies have their giggles
Don't force me awake at dawn
Chiffon nails unlike my Queen idle

Give me happy pills,
Drown me once, twice, or thrice
Cannot quite identify between sugar & spice,
***** spoiled brat with her spoiled milk,
De-feather the throne and join the heist

Give me happy pills,
Show me how to love and show me how to sin—
Locate me to my demons I have never been,
A corpse is a corpse—
When his pale lips turns into beige
Just an ordinary broken cassette,
In the age of fifteen

Give me happy pills,
Slap me a mega laughter until I die
Tell me saber, how to curve a smile
Adorableness faints in a cradle—
When she started to cry,
Atleast give me forever for awhile
Happy pills are always the best
Tom Shields Aug 2022
Shower curtain fall
hop, skip, jump, roll and collect them all
pretty shiny collection in the ball, a fist
never missed, like this, the equation
life divided by a shower curtain
time over everything that happens over time
equals life, divided by the fine line
cutting into the divine sea-brine grind
left on the ponderances played out to the extreme
wearing down a weary diminished resigned, unrefined, strip-mined mind
unkind, peek and time winds clockwork gears tight until the hindsight plight cannot fight
it takes machine might to resist explosive pressure under binds that never designed
sold souls a tin soldier in bolder eyes of better beholders beauty knows there is precious sculptures
where all that rests is a clay boulder

Better to rest
a marble in a grander arena than realized by the stumbling discoverer
sliced in half on Solomon's knowledge, acknowledged for potential
only a fourth, half for each half and half of that for half the effort
for half the price for half the blade
for half the cleaning of half the clay
leaving less than a fraction of a copy of the golem made
cleaned off the shovel that digs the grave that buries the victims of infanticide
dead crybabies, laid to rest at last, jumping jacks and skipping ropes
whips and nooses, caltrops and rubber *****
one grave dirt ire, eye invoked, spirit higher, fire high voices spooked at wind through smoke
on the wind a specter spoke
this clay tin soldier laid to rest in a toy chest sarcophagus
his jaw dislocated and lever actioned from the back, with a wind up key
wooden, stiff, disregarded and disconnected, eternally watchful;
a vigilant veteran from the pile of junk that forms his tomb is he.
write
please read and enjoy
The Fire Burns Aug 2017
A generation raised,
only being praised,
never having to succeed,
just being handed gold trophies.

Participation ribbons,
despite the effort given,
no winner and no loser dealings,
because we might hurt their feelings.

Afraid of ideas and of words,
triggers, micro aggressions are absurd,
in need of a safe space,
think life is candy and lace.

No work ethic has been instilled,
expects the government to deal,
out the stuff they deserve,
the Constitution unpreserved.

Thin skinned crybabies now in charge,
destruction of the world at large,
everything, given on their plate,
we have created a nanny state.

— The End —