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LeaK Sep 2018
Stellar mistreatment, meltdown; went down
Spectrum gushing, waving ocean
Exploring deplorable nether regions galore
Roots uprising, doubling be-headings

It's profound!
On the grounds of treason
The sound of suffering
The soul of season

Shimmer and I, be one
Till it gets to my guts
Blurting, hurting needs the new one
Replicating, replacing me dust to sun

Now, whole life turned into pun
Perfect one knows no one
As I lay as a stardust, have none
Cosmic wind blew and now begone
Meandering Mind Aug 2020
illusions abound

what's not an illusion?

is all in life an illusion?

is life really nothing
  but a man sitting at a computer
  typing his existence into existence?

could he type himself into
  whatever existence he wanted?
could he dare to type
  the thing he feared the most?
   the lack of existence?
    and whether such a state
     was type-ably reachable?

he wouldn't dare
the sentence would elude him
but it would gnaw at his mind
  it would sit and wait
   and then jump out
    and try to be typed
     but the man wouldn't let it
like a caged bird
  a self-destructive bird
   one who literally would vanish
    if it flew from the cage

if that bird knew its potential fate
  would it still want out?
would the caged bird still sing
  if it knew what awaited outside?
   not just doom
    but complete annihilation

SHOULD the caged bird still sing?
should it accept its fate?
should it reject its fate
  and try to escape?

what would the caged bird do?
what should the caged bird do?
and if the caged bird is nothing
  but a part of the man
should the man listen
  to the caged bird at all?

what about the other thoughts?
  the thoughts like cheetahs
   sprinting through savannahs
  like dolphins
   leaping from the sea
  like digital aliens
   quantum leaping across the universe
more free
  than that bird
   could ever hope to be

should those thoughts have more say?
or should the caged bird win out?

will the caged bird win out
  if it's such a strong willed beast
telling that man to try
  to be bold
   to type that sentence
    into existence
     (or non-existence)
  just to see what happens

the heart would speed up
  man's heart does speed up
the thought would jump forward
  man's thought does jump forward
the fingers would begin
   a slow deliberate march
    across the keys
  man's fingers begin to march

the breath catches
the bird sings
the cheetah halts
the dolphin floats
the aliens know
  and yet they watch
all stops
all waits

the fingers tapping at the keyboard
  now the arena of the whole universe
as the man types
  one key at a time

as he's always typed his existence
  INTO existence

and wondered

if he could type his existence
what is reality?

do we create our own reality?

do we make ourselves real?

can we make ourselves unreal?
Devare May 2018
Dark V.S. Light
We portray darkness as pain and suffering.
We view it as a place of evil.
But what if that darkness is home.
What if that darkness is an escape from the light.
What if the light suddenly became portrayed as pain, and suffering. What if light became our evil.
A place where light became darkness and darkness became a place of solace, a keepsake, something we hold onto.
Light creeps into our dreams, and our minds.
Like a parasite latching onto a host for survival, light wants to take over.
As it creeps into our thoughts, telling us that light is good, that the light wants to help, wants to keep you safe.
Darkness is all you’ve ever known, you haven’t felt pain, and suffering, nor anguish.
The light wants to change that, as it watches above like a hawk stalking its prey, or a snake blending in with the shrubs and dirt. How can you trust light, light brings nothing but destruction and annihilation, But… What if the light is what you are missing.
That hole in your heart that you could never fill.
That craving you’ve been having, but could never satisfy.
But in the end, light rejects you and leaves you with nothing.
Syed Afaq Ali May 2018
A gloomy midnight—I rested
beneath a starry veil, where
drenched sky shrinks
hiding a tear, flowing,
latterly floating.

Silent the tear is
to honor the nature,
to honor the rain,
making it annihilate
in other aqueous.

As sky turns,
the tear gets burnt
with all compassion,
casting depression
towards the fear.

How peace would've,
if it stayed in
my eye,
its coffin.
merciless genocide
     slaughter of native peoples
     wrought with (super) wanton zeal
feeble ability to thwart

     "discoverers" rapine wicked onslaught
     merely ratcheted wrecked webbing
wrenched tribal unity,
     violently rent asunder

     vibrant indigenous linkedin weave    
rendered sacred weltanschauung
     decimated "noble savage"
     woke wretched nightmare,

     sans pock marked worsted weal
the Native American holocaust
     shrouded in whitewashed veil
tragedy trampled truces

     triggering tearful trail
scoped scattered remnant
     snuffed out via surveil
futile sympathetic remonstrances,

     viz rant and rail
hermetically sealed
     ***** deeds done dirt
     blunted, cheapened,

     and deadened
     lance armstrong to quail
most definitely coloring faces
     of captive

     American Indians deathly pale
into figurative coffin
     got hammered
     rusty nine inch nail

subpar critical population mass
     for survival, plus storied "red man"
     bereft of ample potent male
off limits to original proprietors

     forced to hightail  
happy hunting grounds o'er hill and dale
becoming desiccated bleached bones
     devoid of awful, pitiful,

     and sorrowful fait accompli
and roaming spirits
     like banshees bewail
grievous shadow a blot doth cause me to ail!
G Mar 2018
as a form of creation.
the first step to evolution.
natural disaster,
the checks and balances
to human eradication.
it is the wars of nature
that breed progression.
We lost the game.
No scores to be had.

Living was copying motions
of same old ways,
from bygone days.

Immolated landscapes
Unconsecrated ground
Land now sand
Silence the only sound.

People as mannequins
shackled to consumerism
now free to be human
humanity is dead
turned to dust and ash.

Charred trees, charred bones
Libraries and ossuaries
Rock, paper, scissors
Sinners, readers, builders
All on bended knees
Pillars of salt blown away on the blast wind.

Flame extinguished.
02:21 GMT
Pola R Oct 2017
oh tell me dear father
how do you use your scythe so smoothly
cutting and boning
your foolish apostles.

how do you lead
your little addicts
not overdosing
but subtly

oh tell me dear mother
painless death
how can you be so sweet
honey dripping
ethereal paradise.

how can you be so loving
for your ****** up children
with gouged eyes
sleepwalking through their
last judgment.

oh tell me dear brother
how different would it be
when it's all over
how blind you were
going into a rabbit's hole.

how hurt you were
when you lost your voice
screaming cacophonically
into the dreadful void
"i am alive, do not bury me yet!"

oh tell me dear sister
how lovely it could have been
if you never got married
if malicious goblin
never came to our house.

how tired you were
with ****** eyes that
once were golden
with sliced wrists
and broken nails.

oh tell me please
what did i do
how yesterday i had too little money
and now too little hours
to fix everything.

how did i end up white
with all sad colours
knocking into my mind
why can't i be black
reflecting the world.
im sorry but i wrote it like 3 years ago and its based on tokyo ghoul
Vikshipta Jun 2017
These frail mane still smells of coffin nail.
Hands..Struggling with metacarpus to trade the manus ..
stretch. scratch. Twirl.
Orbs: wide and wrathful:
Fluctuating the pupils
left and right
| Mad mad |
Concerntating on these screams..
screams into le noir lughole .
I grasp your fluttering wings.
Oh you flutterer !
fluttering on C.
Fluttering hushed ..
Fluttering hasten..
fluttering to strive for nooks and blood.
Oh you flutterer!
erroneous target thee choosed.
Smash. Squeeze.
now ease into mine ichor palms.
Death is inevitable. But somes, they are meant for it...THE EXTIRPATION
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