Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Traveler Jan 24
What scientist thought to be a Big Bang
Was actually the main frame
Booting up!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Poetic T Feb 2020
Midnight claustrophobia dreams,
                           where the charcoal
suffocation presses on my chest.

My expiration has no date of

But the animation of my expiration
            still lingers,
and I hold on to that moment.

You are my collection of recollection,
            and in the onyx covering
  that the luminosity clings too,

we suffocate on every

                  exhalation of the other.
neth jones Sep 2019
in our very own room
all have fever.. privately
we feed it soft egg

we closet and build
create fabric, like insect
mouthwork, repurpose

outside of the home
dictated by company
we have shared madness

we tread the weather
we institutionalize
miss out on the world

societies pal
traitors to our piracy
mistrust our own mind

blinds drawn, in fierce study
apply to the retooling
head clay made better

the automaton
must bare some animation
unallied approach

wetter still and fit
your neutrons fend now and thrive
carry the tune outdoors ?
Alan S Bailey Jul 2019
Pineapple topped beach palms are tall in the clouds,
Echoes of bells tones trail in the sky so dark blue.
The sun is liquid honey, with a golden candy coating,
It is now that I look up and see my red balloon.

A song of harmonic laughter is full in the air,
Up it floats into adventurous magical territories,
Mythic beasts and sprites follow on clouds and stare,
Ticker-tape string trailing, windy chimed melodies.

The chalk of clouds are pillows filling the sky,
Darker and suspended in mid-animation, dimming.
The balloon floats still-ever higher in the light,
Lighter than ever, above the earth still spinning...
Michael H Jun 2019

Giving each other life
Closer and closer
Python in brains
Already there

Light blue
Animation with AI
Stark love

Reading fast
Choosing how human you are
Faux-morality dying
neth jones Apr 2019
This bedroom got boring
I hold in my breath til I’m pressured
just short of pain
and result :
The wall at the far end pushes back into the darkness
the bed raises on longer limbs
Now there is more territory
Inviting in a new metabolism
some organic animation
A stretch of imagination
I miss The Monsters Under The Bed
Asonna Mar 2018
Mirror, mirror, on the wall
Please stop staring at the hole.
With magic i could be one once more,
But fairytales aren't standing tall.
Ruby shoes run out of wishes
I'm sculpted, carved. just like pumpkin.
There's just no light inside. It's gone.
touka Mar 2018
I find myself

in improvised dances
to songs that scratch at the shadows
of songs before them

I find myself

in blue light that flickers
wavers by the bedside
sends out a sharp, musical sound
just when I feel it's gotten too quiet

I find myself

in colors, complementary
proud on the screen
flashing expertly in the heart of a scene

and I find myself

in the stories of people who are lost
who cannot find themselves
who jut out from their imposed pages
drenched, pouring the thick ink
that makes up the prose
of their pain and passion

so, I find myself

in silly, stealing, fleeting things
in things that time will wear, eat and tear
in pages, in notes, in shared thoughts and vibrant colors
but in each new finite, fictional summer
I find myself there
in its sugar-coated, sweetened care
how I'd love to tie my life up with
bareness, raw knuckles and fists
in a brawl that teases its brevity
and once it's won, maybe a true love kiss
tie it into a neatly knotted bow
and sign the end page with an authors flourish
Vexren4000 Nov 2017
The artist of the realm,
Makes the physics there as well,
The cartoonist is the rule of law,
In a land of his mind,
Forged by pencil and machine,
Color-coded and painstakingly placed,
Storyboarded and placed together,
In some sense of harmony,
In animations taken for granted.

Next page