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The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.

From her lips ampersands and percent signs
Exit like kisses.
It is Monday in her mind: morals

Launder and present themselves.
What am I to make of these contradictions?
I wear white cuffs, I bow.

Is this love then, this red material
Issuing from the steele needle that flies so blindingly?
It will make little dresses and coats,

It will cover a dynasty.
How her body opens and shuts --
A Swiss watch, jeweled in the hinges!

O heart, such disorganization!
The stars are flashing like terrible numerals.
ABC, her eyelids say.
S Bonney Jul 2014
A time of disorganization, neglect and
isolation; run ragged by desperation
and dark self destructive desires.
Who is in charge of these
mechanisms inside?  A raging glutton
of obsession; no defenses. Tearing it
all down until utter destruction
devastation
a destination without rescue.
Sjr1000 Dec 2013
Creativity
&
Madness
I've walked the razor's edge.
Playing it straight
In public places
No one knew
The thoughts and voices
Running around my head.
Fortune dictated
I never made it
To the walking dead.

Secret sharers
Come to me
At the beginning
And at the end
Of their plunge
Into that madness
Falling off the ledge.

No sleep came to them
Electronic insomnia
Ran them.
Cars became creatures
Screaming at them
As real as the table
Between us.

Imagination run wild
A chariot
The horses sweating
And running full speed
The reins either
Flapping untamed
Or
Imagination chained
Directed into these lines.

Creativity
&
Madness
At the razor's edge.

Disorganization
Voices screaming
When the wind is silent.
Miming up against the walls
No one can see them at all.
And in space as they said
"No one can hear you scream"
And space surrounds me.

Creativity
&
Madness

Pros & cons
Cost benefit ratios

*** makes it worse
The roots ungrounded

Crystal gears it up

Alcohol numbs the
Mind with depression's
Blanket of dread.

While ****** leaves
You strung out and lead.

The drugs they give you
Leaves you walking dead
But calm and able
To
Play it straight in public places
Far from the
Razor's edge
Of creativity & madness.

What's a poor boy to do?
Wind up sleeping in the park?
Cold wet encampment bound
Lost in the landscape
Of madness
Sights
Shadows,
A mind full
Of old echoes
Blinding.

How do we walk
This line?
A few fall over
A few are left behind.
Some never know what they could find
And some find that it all resides
At the intersection
At the razor's edge...
Maggie McLeod Nov 2011
They don’t know that they will all
die
in the end.

I have to write my pieces in
pen,
because when the ink runs
freely
my ideas run freer.

The ideas pop up
randomly.
I’m never able to catch them in time
Especially when I’m in my
“emo” mood.


“You don’t know what it’s like...
welcome to my life.”

Actually, Simple Plan,
I do.
Welcome to MY life.
Its not that
no one know or understands.
They just can’t tell
depression from
wanting attention.
And they’re all idiots for it.

“For a second I wished the tide
would swallow every inch of this city,
as you gasp for air tonight...”

I really do hate this place.
But do i really want everyone to
die?
I want to die.
That doesn’t mean everyone has to
go with me.
Even though someday,
I WILL go out with a
bang.
But not yet.
Oh, how I wish the
Anthem Of Our Dying Day rang
true.

“I know the world’s a broken bone
but melt your headaches, call it home.
Hey moon, please forget to fall down;
hey moon, don’t you go down.
You are at the top of my lungs,
drawn to the ones who never yawn.”

Yes, moon,
please stay up.
I want to dream
forever,
never have to face
reality.
I send my love back to you,
Northern Downpour,
even if I’m missing the point
entirely.
Of course I want to melt my
headaches,
but how am I supposed to call this hell a home?
Home is where the heart is.
My heart broke,
so I threw it away.

“All I ever wanted
was love.”

Me too, Christopher Drew
Me too.
The songs I use in this are: Welcome to my Life by Simple Plan, Anthem of Our Dying Day by Story of the Year, Northern Downpour by Panic! At the Disco, and The Past by Never Shout Never.
ray Apr 2015
summer poetry kills us now.
Lemon.
like, lemon on your tongue,
but you love it
like, and you wish i wasn't so ******,
and i wish i wasn't so ******,
it's ironic in the way we keep living
i stopped calling
i stopped praying
cigarettes on my skin, that magic 8 ball, what'd it tell you?
stop asking me why i leave so often.
but hey, the last time your horoscope got it right- it hit you
along with every shot you took that night
singe, we singe our skin, chemistry converts calories and
today my bus almost crashed. almost
it goes something like, the unprecedented laughs we hadn't heard until its over
its over
Mary McCray Apr 2013
Real success indicators*

- Skill in the persuasive negotiations of terms, a kind of sedimentary geological persuasion
- Ability to conjure Oprah behind closed doors, talk downs
- Proficiency in juggling fire
- Possessing the gift of grasping the bigger picture metaphysically, spiritually on Sundays
- Facility with the in-crowd, a knack for small talk in lunch lines
- Talent for producing imaginative and influential spin for both external and internal corporate communications
- Competence in project management and setting expectations, ballet dancing
- Aptitude in translating poor self-esteem into long work hours
- Capacity for taking sh
t at all levels of the disorganization
Continuation of yesterday's experience with aptitude tests from recruiters and, while at work today, thinking about the real quantifiable job skills.
Roberta Day May 2014
I used to think there was something
I dunno, attractive
about disorganization—
a scattered mind, having too many thoughts
to say at once, unable to focus on just
one thing because their attention is caught
by so many things they consider interesting
or insightful—I found it quirky, intriguing; a mystery
to be explored, a mind in need of dissecting
But it’s really more of a burden than
anything endearing, because it’s frustrating
to never feel like your words are correct
or your own, like you ripped them from a book
or only spit them for this poem
it’s disheartening to never be taken seriously
because of how frantically you lose track
of your subject and yourself
It’s shameful to be invaded because of this quirk,
but only for a short time
because the baggage is too heavy
and everybody’s hands are too full
There's a method to my madness.
I have always been disorganized, but I somehow find everything that I need when I need it.
nicole smith Dec 2014
It is so incredibly difficult to come to the conclusion that it has only been four months since I have met you. After several days of trying to find words and knit them together into a poem was a struggle for me, so here I am, writing you a letter. I would also like to apologize in advance for the sloppiness and disorganization you will find in these next few words. I know I have said this several times, to you and to myself, but I will continue to say this until the day I fall. But you, you mean so much to me. And this love doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt to be with you. It doesn't hurt to think about you, because I know that you are mine. And I am so blessed to be able to see your smile everyday and see your smile at night when we drink strawberry shakes and as I steal your fries. I don't care what time is it. I don't care if I should go to bed, because you will be on my mind either way, awake or asleep. And I don't care what this world thinks. I don't care simply because the only thing I can even think about is you. It's you. It's you that I want to continue to hold hands with and take pictures with and laugh with. I don't want you to let me go when we watch scary movies and I want you to continue kissing my forehead when we lie down beside one another. I don't ever want to stop stealing your french fries and I don't want to stop catching you take sips from my strawberry shake. I just want you to stay with me. Please don't leave me. Stay. You are already stuck on my mind and running through my veins and I don't ever want to lose you.
everly  May 2019
soleil
everly May 2019
i sit by the shore
with each tide that rolls in
soaking my jeans to the salty waters kiss
i look down at the wet sand that gets pulled to the center of the ocean
by the command of the moon and at least
it has an immovable sense of calmness
but again everything is relative
i take a step in
inviting myself
intruding peaceful ripples to ripples now tailored to fit around the circumference of each leg like pegs in a triangular shaped board at ******* barrel
i shove my fist into the ground and the granules scrape against my knuckles
that’ll sting later..impulsive..
just like we were..
past tense
but we’re grown now or at least we’re expected to be

i take a step further in
i reached for a handful of the wet sand and
smudged it onto my legs
unconventional art
like peoples tags in graffiti and skateboard stickers on the doors of abandoned buildings in disturbed neighborhoods
showing culture in cities
splashes of individuality beyond a zip code
disrupt
organized disorganization
and i’m silently drowning but i see you from the shore
or a figment of my ongoing untamed imagination
you smirked
you still would say that you didn’t mean to- you were daydreaming-
focusing on the scenery than the whole episode- ‘your bad tho- it was your bad’

i begged for my life back
and you shrugged your shoulders and went on walking back to the docks..
i hated you from the moment i contemplated even treading the shore and you knew how the evening would go as soon as you caught sight of me.
onlylovepoetry Apr 2017
~


so obvious the mistake
the ordered disorganization

the summation of a man's life
in an ampersand -
a logogram connection
tween two words,  
finally, properly sequenced

error then trial, then error then trial

perception - my life is an endless trial
punctuated and worsened,
periodically pierced
by errors
made of your own free (not really) choosing

"whenever confronted by a fork in my road,
I always chose wrongly"


and aye, here's the rub
the same mistake made repeatedly

example prime:
falling in love is just another way of saying
gonna end badly

and you constant cravenly confess
to yourself the ending unbecoming cause
you can read the handwriting on the wall
for your specialty is


*only love poetry for dummies
Michelle Garcia  Apr 2016
Flimsy
Michelle Garcia Apr 2016
I am longing to get lost somewhere far, far away. Away from the routine hum of constantly pushing the snooze button. Away from the stress of misunderstanding and complication, the hunger of chaos and disorganization. I desire to grasp the entire world with my own eyes rather than with a microscope that can only be focused on untouched possibility. I want to view life in vibrant colors I've only ever been able to understand in my mind and to speak of my adventures in words that have never been written down. I want to drive down avenues that no longer exist and balance at the very top of a mountain that has forgotten the feel of footsteps. I am thirsty for the impossible. I am exhausted of falling asleep to the sound of my own heartbeat banging against my bedroom walls and breathing in air that has already been exhaled in past lives. I will never settle for contentment. I will never settle.

— The End —