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Matt Sol Jan 29
A second sun
peaks and flutters
in the color-dust
of virga
refracting light
of false idols
shading skies to
new horizons.

See ya later
with a question            (x2).
I forgot how
to say goodbye,

A second sun
peaks and flutters
in the color-dust
of virga
as thunder rolls
down a stale sky
into the fray
of a twilight.

See ya later
with a question.             (x2)
I forgot how
to say goodbye.

A second sun
peaks and flutters
in the color-dust
of virga
refracting light
of false idols
shading skies to
new horizons.
Sasha Scarr Jan 15
Not to die, but to reclaim life?
That's punk rock as ****!

What about your loved ones?
NO! What about YOU?
What do you do for YOU?

You can beat this, but what if you don't want to?
It gets better, but what if that doesn't concern you?

You never asked to be conceived, and born, they can't respect your autonomy.
I'd **** myself before any man, any judgement or any disease.

I never decided how or when I would be born, but someday, I WILL decide how I die.

Suicide is punk rock, because you ARE your own god.
Sasha Scarr Jan 15
I was young when you attacked.
Young and hopeful, taken aback.
You told me I would die like you, and do things I'm not meant to do.
Then, I couldn't comprehend, why you'd meet your untimely end.
Inside me it began to stir, strange things I suddenly remembered.
Another me? From a different time? Or maybe later down the line?
I was calm, and I was fierce.
Goodbyes were often insincere.
I left my wife  and child behind.
Because of this, they would die.
I was torn, but I was free.
They had not known what happened to me.
I was less than they deserved.
A conjecture, but still, ahead of the curve.
So I went on to see you again, I wonder what this visit contends?
I enter without warning, but here you are, prepared for me!
Your friend who stood behind the door, I dealt to him the killing blow.
I then began to feel regret, but wait! I haven't finished yet!
I wrap my hands around your neck, there and then I felt content.
A soul can't leave your lifeless shell, omega on your way to ****.
If I could watch you die again, I'll do it from my ink and pen.
Lewis Hyden Dec 2018
Cyber! Neon green, pinks,
Hair like vivid spotlights
At nightclubs, darting, sharp,
Strong-willed and persistent,
Piercing through the pale skin
Laid thinly over fog.

Shock-shock! If anarchy
Is popular, what does
It mean to rebel? Rave
Lights beam through the system
Like tracer rounds! The punks
Spin like halogen bulbs.

Steel! Plenty of plastic.
Enough to rebuild the
Eccentric walls of their
Flashy nightclubs. Above,
Sophisticated chains
Spin and drag over meat;

Pointless. A simple sort
Of mechanisation.
The music, the plastic,
The hair dye; all of it
Spits to the contrary,
Such anarchists are they.
A poem about failure.
#32 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Frigid buildings as those
That scrape the sky, climbing.
In a place that no-one knows,
Distant bells are chiming

To the shots and screaming,
"Stop resisting!" A rise
In terror betraying
The brittle city's brittle lies.

And for a time we hoped that they
Would never know our quiet rage,
And from the melting lights, we pray
For the silent, now upstaged.
A poem about Utopian life.
#20 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Do you know, the exact design
Of spikes and wires atop street-signs
And the sort, are to stop
Pigeons ******* on the top?

And yet, just the other day,
A mother pigeon - as if to say
"*******!" to the local street -
Had made her nest up, nice and neat,

Above the very spikes they laid
To stop the nest from being made.
And as I passed, I thought aloud,
"'At-a-girl! She should be proud!"
A poem about anarchy.
#17 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Maya Oct 2018
an anarchist, just
a person who wants to de-
-stroy the government.

there's a difference be-
- tween letting the world burn and
setting it aflame.
"i will not die in the night
but in the light of the sun
with the ashes of this world
in my lungs"
- hollywood undead, 'City'
Madison Sep 2018
She's an anarchist

But she still follows the rules

Of writing haiku.
Lucy Wooding Jul 2018
What are you living for?

To operate like a minuscule cog in the gargantuan wheel of capitalism?
Like a mindless hamster slaving away 5 days a week.

Or to learn from vacuous minded socialites
That a woman’s empowerment begins with flaunting skin
Accumulating confidence through social media validation.

Are you living for a beige existence?
Where you station yourself in your birth town for the next 50 years
Wedding the first man who shows interest and bearing his children at the age of 21.

Are you tirelessly working to pay for that one bedroom flat
Situated in an overcrowded concrete jungle?
Social fulfilment sapped from your clutches.

Or for that luxury recliner
Which will take 10 years to pay off?

Are you living in ignorance?
Suppressing the knowledge that civil wars and mass genocides are manifesting every second
Yet you choose not to help fellow mortals?

Are you taking orders, or questioning instigators of austerity?
Fulfilling the anarchist rhetoric, demonstrating that you are not a doormat?

But really, what are you living for?
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