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Samara 4d
Ophelia and Persephone
my kindred women
& forlorn spirits

I wish to embody the
eccentric melodrama
of their complete life
the grandiosity
the tapestry of all
that life is
and should be...
void of any
and all
Roman 5d
You're ugly from an angle
You don't reflect enough
Your choices are so loud
Yet they still lack any sound
I'm not so Ptolemaic
You're not a Galilean
I'm not at all judgmental
I am honest. Maybe humble
You're weak below the knees
You're smug and overweight
You don't respect advice based on the mouth from which it came
I'm walking alongside you
I choose to be so close
It might be most absurd but know I love you more than most
Existence, consciousness ..

who are we and what do we do ..
A puff out .. a drag of cold air, racing .. racing .. head full of existential thoughts  . ..
Living, a wine glass .. a shot of warmth down my throat  . . Emotions these running flow of consciousness .. why do I think it all ?

Lying, in the dark .. an athem of sort, in silence reforms .. ideas and lack of them .. and thoughts, a void is born !

Internalising emotions .. finding my thoughts so alive in this darkness  ..
Hurriedly may I pass away to a lack of form ..

Insanity .. beckons me .. and what more can I do but nod .. meaning, I seek meaning. And not an iota of cognition is ever got.

Tired, I am tired of life as I know it, the bones ache, the thoughts become nonsensical and we deliver as we are meant to .. not very sure, not very sound .. in the air . . drifting slowly, and surely .. towards an end.

What is this eternal rack of hell that we are accustomed to... What is this longing for something that has passed us far by .. who am I even, floating aimless .. who are we, under our skin tight hides.

Disaster in the waiting, a last beacon calls to the inward eye .. and I see, albeit shrouded in dark .. nothing. Alas, no meaning.. an absurd, surreal delusion called Life.
We are buffeted by the brutality of constant demands
That erode the inner steel we put up
To block out the absurdity of life.
Always looking forward, to what?
To time ticking down
As we move inexorably to unity in our everlasting darkness of nothing
The stupidity will hit us one day
A tsunami of regret
Why did I keep the madness at bay
instead of embracing it and taking it out to dance.
Susanna Aug 11
milk is just grass
stupid questions on quora
what's music?
*** is weird
there must be more to life
can i brush your teeth?
ellen degenerate
i'd smile for you even though you don't deserve it
Samara May 22
Quiet in my velvet dreams
gleaming with beauty queens
ultraviolet veneers
under crystal clear chandeliers

Awake. Never quite getting the reckoning.
Instead you're beckoning
me to your charade of promise
but I'm stuck in the forest
where you're my Charon
following me to the limestone,
dragging me back to the gates
and I know you mean well, but it doesn't resonate.

I've abandoned all hope and entered
Feeling like I've surrendered
What is it I will remember
when we get to November?
Biting my arm
in moments of harm
braiding my hair
with you just being unaware?

It all seems silly
like a grand facade really
where I can't see why anyone
can buy into becoming a chameleon.
Why take it so serious
when it just feels delirious?
What is it we're racing to
at the end, it's the same view.
Who is it for?
I really must make sure.

Waiting for my Virgil
To guide me through the hurdles.
He's no where to be seen
as I choke on my amphetamines.
Words' Worth May 19
The person upstairs
Hasn't lost faith in you
He just comes downstairs
To put you on a level
You can jump from
And keeps doing that
Till you reach Heaven
That is Nirvana
Samara Mar 16
My days are filled with a sense of nostalgia
for those that haven't happened yet and
longing for days gone by.

Bouyed by an effervescent iridescence
anchored to the shore of
absurd accusations
vital to self-realizations manifesting
into a festering static buzzing
There was a time without hesitation
when I spoke for youth.
I feel old often.

There was a philosophy
which allowed the possibility
for some meaning
or value in life.

Were it as certain as existentialism
about the value of one's own
constructed meaning,

Or as certain as nihilism
about the total inability to create meaning.

I would take comfort where I can, but there're times
when I reject warmth
and feel the cold universe run through me.
My frail body, were it bound up with anything other
than the psychological tension arising from
this long search, and our failure
to find anything that arises beyond the interactions of
our subject. How should we live?
How shall we be genuine among alien determinations
and all that otherness, enveloping us: our reflection.
The mirror does not usually spare a thought
to its constituent, referring not to glass nor opaqueness.
The mirror, object
constituted by subject
that there were. One drive,
Willing to subjugate the others,
And a thought to spare the subject
as it were. Melody might reconcile with
the absurd, out-of-tune as it is
and out-of-sorts as I were.
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