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Asominate May 14

I point
And three fingers
Pointing back at me

Not forgotten
Even though I plea

The knives,
They are calling
Yet I still don't bleed

No point in my destruction
Since I cannot feed them

Sharp blades
My self destruction

To pay
For loss of function

New day
Is a new problem

Cut me off
(Save me!)

I'm coming out
I'm caving in
Tell me do you like me now
Let me begin

By burning all the cradles
Uninstall the training wheels
Enstrangement's just a label
And I don't give feels

(I cut me off
I shut you out
I'm caving in
Do you like me now?

Not good enough
I've never been
I'm the alien)
đź‘˝ nation.
Francie Lynch Apr 20
I know death.
Incensed with all of it.
The weighty strain of darkness,
Eyes closed, stopped ears, stuffed nose.
I was petrified while the world stumbled,
My wordless mouth gapes like a maw
Needing stitches.
I lounge in a toga,
Motionless as alabaster.
I was born to die,
But not like this.
I was hatched upon this earth
A day before all time
I was made to toll the earth
For all of humankind
Watched all the centuries
Of horrid humankind
And now I seek satisfaction
To ease my wasted mind

The seventh born son of God
The glory to be mine
I was called but chosen not
Nor were the glory mine
Cast out of heaven
With a third the lot of man
Cast out of heaven
By my own dear father's hand
Nashville and Andromeda
by Michael R. Burch

I have come to sit and think in the darkness once again.
It is three a.m.; outside, the world sleeps . . .

How nakedly now and unadorned
the surrounding hills
expose themselves
to the lithographies of the detached moonlight—
******* daubed by the lanterns
of the ornamental barns,
firs ruffled like silks
casually discarded . . .

They lounge now—
indolent, languid, spread-eagled—
their wantonness a thing to admire,
like a lover’s ease idly tracing flesh . . .

They do not know haste,
lust, virtue, or any of the sanctimonious ecstasies of men,
yet they please
if only in the solemn meditations of their loveliness
by the ***** pen . . .

Perhaps there upon the surrounding hills,
another forsakes sleep
for the hour of introspection,
gabled in loneliness,
swathed in the pale light of Andromeda . . .

Yes, seeing,
but always ultimately unknowing
anything of the affairs of men.

Published by The Aurorean and The Centrifugal Eye

Keywords/Tags: Nashville, Andromeda, universe, cosmos, meditation, introspection, loneliness, alienation, pen, writing, night, darkness, sleep, moonlight, love, lover, affair, affairs, haste, lust, virtue, ecstasy, knowing, unknowing, aware, unaware, oblivious
Em MacKenzie Feb 15
I once believed myself alone
because the world did not know me.
I now know I am alone
because I know the world.
Francie Lynch Dec 2019
She is the shadow of her shadow;
A hard green tomato on an October vine;
Like last year's silver tree tinsel;
The inescapable smell of a house housing cats;
A smoker's car;
An arthritic leaf, twisting in early December;
The runny nose of someone's toddler;
An empty gurney in a hospice hallway;
Or the last dark spike impaling dawn.
Hanging on and hanging in.
Not knowing. Not going.
Still here.
Joseph Rice Nov 2019
The worst part is the lack
Of color
And no amount of Giant Steps
Could avoid the emptiness.

I heard about a torture technique
Where the prisoner is placed in an
Empty white room
With only white light to see
And white rice to eat.
I think the alienation I feel
Is like a form of that.
Lifelike solitary confinement.
Scarlett Nov 2019
I empathize for the bugs of damnation
spiders, ants & roaches as frantic as I
flinching away from the gangly limbs of civilization
a world of fleshy foul things perched high.
Spray,   squash,  slap,   scorn,
how we scamper from the polished hand of misery
hath you no mercy for the unwillingly born?
hath you a reason to cause such injury?
perhaps I am like the cockroach who weaves between the shadows, perhaps I've romanticized insect-like alienation
N Nov 2019
He spoke in silence
that’s where his fluency
flows out the most  

The lone wolf
longingly howled
at the blood moon,
his cries were
like loud sirens

His inner demons
howled for his blood
During nighttime when
he’s buried in the arms
of his beloved insomnia

He’s met with the alpha
and saw his own eyes
reflected in the other betas,
but his eye color
didn’t match with theirs

The abandoned wolf has met
with the alpha whom he shares
the same blood and eyes with,

but the wolf is a second choice in this poem,
he will never truly belong

The lone wolf
happens to be a girl,
but she never lived like one

You see,
she’s the main reason
why she has no pack
or a place to call home
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