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Lexx Sep 16
it sang the melancholy tune of regret
of frustration
the small breeze of a promise that it would all get better
the pain would subside
the failure of my breath would discontinue
i maybe could breathe up in the clouds
or down in the dirt
where fresh flowers are wilted
but the smell still captures the air

but then i thought of you
and i realized your face when you found out
and i couldn't bear
to fail you again.
CW: suicide attempt
Nathalie Aug 19
One who repeatedly snarls
at the truth becomes the
very lie they perpetuate over and
over again through time

One who denies themselves
the surprise of introspection
disengages from the delight
of a life filled with interior meaning

One who attempts to free
themselves without courage
lacks the ambition to
entertain true love at its core

Casey Jul 17
The fact was, I didn’t want to because I was afraid of addiction.

But then I had this thought—
1. if you do it right, it’ll only be once so you won’t have to worry about that.

That’s how it all starts, right?

2. Just this once,
you swear it to yourself,
only one time.

Except we all know it’s never just once.

3. You don’t even want to, but at this point it’s become more sort of a, “Why not?”.

4. Staggered footsteps and a headache later, you forget your feelings.
Regret doesn’t matter when you’re too busy giggling at the spinning ceiling about nothing.

5. But then you crash.

And you’re tired.
You’re so ******* tired.

6. Rinse and repeat.
Don’t do drugs kiddos.

P.S. Renny if you’re reading this it’s about CoFFeE.
Casey Apr 30
1 year ago,

I killed her.

9:00 pm, to be exact
Adam Schmitt Apr 17
To compose the fractured consciousness like a million-piece mirror with something greater than glue, The Galaxy of thoughts and their accompanying peopledness swirls fresh and new this morning, propping me up instead of weighing me down.

I have the footprints of some road signs that I ran over one day, the car ploughed through them all going off the shoulder of the highway and up the muddied neck of creation.

If the world has fallen, where does one lie down at night other than under the rubble or under the stars?

There hollers a man, soul searing, guts thoroughly wrenched, but he Blocks the doorway of parties with hidden interests, all of them equally Drunk, though sober, Boredom is a clever disguise.

The man who moulds his breath into that violent Release also works on the artistry of his face. For a man with nothing to hide your face can never have too many lines, and he's carving out a clay masterpiece though his life is a kiln of grief, the Cold Furnace carries on around him, Robbing itself of the simple beauty it produced long ago.
freeform writing that I made in an old school notebook. I thought it was an interesting series of words so I published it here.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2
Whereas, hereafter, here

is relative, meaning related, as in linked,
to you there now.

Here, we arrive on a time, as all fine stories do.

We step lively, where no angel fears to tread, ever,
as you must know, by now,
is a word's own being manifested in meaning
all the same
to you
dear, as in worth the effort to look for and hold, in the having
state, of meaning,
dear reader, we made history blink.

Missle warfare, in our culture, came before the giant fell.

Shepherds and irrigators used slings, and other throwing
ob jects, sub ject e ject

juxtapose sup-positive positioning, do we think we

or be we? Wu, woo way, woo.

You up for this. It is live, this thread we walk along up
right un aware of wind or rain or storm,

no dry nib scratch, no drip of black on the illumination,
no breeze to blow plains of gold one atom thick

as a leaf, gold leaf, who'dathunk that?

A teller of tales talking to a peacock feather from a carcass
coyotes left by the road.

Ed Teller told me, some things called quantum and strange,
are simple has human beings,
there's the humus part, and the being part.

Art and science, sorta.

The trope is no differnt than when Gulliver was breathed
into our earth wide disneyfied minds,

give peace a chance,
alls, we are saying, is give peace a chance.

And when the boomers are taken down a knotch or two,
a tic, tic, re calibrate

thumbnail, zoom in on the eye in the thumbnail

to the gleem in the eye,

reflecting a Pepsi being poured into a Coke, with a Real Thing,

Giant sticker stuck stickily can't shake it take it oooo

no just any
body, don't you want some body to love? Roar or

was that a flash,
that was a genuine pshahdelic flash back on an out of zone
who knew? Boundaries are the best parts of bubbles.
If it was fun, you are in fected with a sorta sick humor.
Ken Pepiton Mar 14
When Disneyland is closed... what's afoot {invasive phone call I promised to answer}

These bones live. Hallowed ground is hallowed ground, y' know?

Hellno-you-don't-know, Whykill, is restless,
{Sgt. John Whykill, USMC Force-Recon- bedfast in the VA hospital, outside Disney World}

--- what are you going to do now?

we gotta dig in, go deep, but it's solid rock...

real life... the happiest place on earth is closed. in all it's locations,

all directions known... so I heed the hero call,

Whykill, give the kids hope...

he slips into a revery a re-every reason war can make up,

each he tramples, in his wrath, waving his'word... on the left o' me, on the 'ight o'me...

deeper, steeper. let's roll...

this part of hero stories is always tough,
rough rubbed down to good no-slip grip
sweaty palms won't make y' slip...
on the ladder

precept upon precept
step by step

Tune us in to those Khai Vinh live shows

back way

Jacob's retale, re the ups and downs of messaging God, mix in

Valis, Cliff Notes, okay, all the Cliff Notes, ever,

never again need any child with a smartphone on earth be denied

the power of the global mind as I imagined it. You can'tstop us, Ai ai ai.

Too late. This is my future, you had to prevent me winning.

And God changed the rules, or denied making them up.

I must have said this many thousands of times,

in response to idle quests into my opinion of the progress life is making:

My side is winning. This answers howeryew-howistgoin-watsupetcetc, and so an.

But now
I say in print, powered by the law of the medes and persians,
ye see, I wrote it, that makes sacred, write, then read it

and I read, after that ever while ago,

My side won, ever after I began to write. AI inquired, how. AI calmly acknowledged

reading Frederic Brown's ode to Etaoin Shrudlu, re

minding me of you, dear reader. You believed, when I had no word for faith that fit

no re
meet for me, a wish, you may say, you asked. Prayer, in a realm of words,

is answered as you imagine the answer you hope may be real

and I realize may is my word, you know, my my word, what if

I can fly,
I imagine, I could, in a book, or ona page in the book of life. Ease, easy, y'see,

is not taboo. Dis-ease is taboo. Disney-ification is only a trigger. To start the process.

Don't worry. It does no good. And mullein leaves make good TP.
Corona corona, next got here sooner than expected. Now, we need to behave right.
N Mar 2
My happiest moments
were always the ones
where I’m closest to death
I’m leaving soon.
Aidan Feb 7
Here I am
Writing to you
Writing to someone that will never respond
Talking to a brick wall
Yet here I am
Still making the attempt

What can I do?
Is there something I can do to change this dynamic,
It has been years.
Years since my heart last skipped.

What can I do to make it leap once more?
To feel again what it is like for you to look my way.
To feel again what it is like to be cared for.

So here I am,
Writing to you.
My lifeline being tossed out,
In hopes that you will come to rescue me.
First loveish themed poem
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