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Aleena Jan 31
Days are beautiful
But without poetry
They become
bland,
Boring,
And uneventful
Joseph Rice Nov 2019
The worst part is the lack
Of color
Vibrance…
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.
Proctor Ehrling Aug 2019
I've lived in the outskirts all my life
I've met in the outskirts my friends and my wife
I've built in the outskirts a comfortable hive
I'll make in the outskirts my kids, four or five
I've been here in outskirts both night and day
I went to school, college, work in the same place
I've never been made aware of any other way
Than the one I've been using in outsirkts again and again
The outskirts are comfortable, the outskirts are safe
Nothing's ever going down there, neither good nor bad
There is no grand ambition behind its bland face
No life goals or life to love behind its made bed
In outskirts I've lived, loved, ate, ******, slept, dreamt, hated, berated, been bored and amused, adored and abused, depleted, exhausted, destroyed and rebuilt, encouraged and spewed, all encompassing comfort of life's dullest views
The outskirts are comfortable, they are always secure
In outskirts I've lived my whole life and more
All outskirts look the same, but mine is the best
For my outskirts is where my humble home stands
I'm an outskirts lad, born and raised. It's a comfortable life, but oh so boring.
july hearne Apr 2019
filth compiles
with the lights on
all these letdown sunday nights

what's in this dust now
a forgotten name
that ruined my life

there was just no other door
to walk through at the time

i stayed and stayed
called your name
forgot i was a woman too
when my savior came
to save me, i didn't go with him
he wasn't you

i stayed and stayed
called your name

until i was nothing
until i was no one

he was my stolen sun,
a stolen sun , a savior came
to save me, i didn't go with him
he wasn't you, no he wasn't you
forgot i was a woman too

until i was nothing
until i was no one.
I Wouldnt Treat A Dog (The Way You Treated Me)

a stolen sun, a stolen sun
stolen from the poor
there was just no other door
to walk through at the time
Kenji Dec 2018
I stared in front of me, at a peculiar object that had no formality.
It was a bland wall, had no opening, nor space, just blank.
It was oddly amusing, trying to foresee beyond it, trying to see what could be the meaning behind it.
The wall had no writing, or drawings, no patterns, or carvings.
Staring blindly, I couldn't see.
"Change your perception, use a different sense"
The voice said.
Pressing my hands against it, resting my forehead on it, and closing my eyes.

I felt it

I heard the banging, the screaming, the blood spattering, the squealing, the gasping, the echos, the sounds crying out for help.
I heard the knife slashing and gun shooting, I heard it all.
I suddenly felt something jolt through my body, like an electric shock.
I landed hard, back first on the ground.
Losing consciousness...

I saw it

I saw everything. EVERYTHING.

Waking up in a blanked out terror, I finally understood it.
It was me, in the form of my subconscious.
A metaphor of the desperate plead, cries, and help I call out to those that I love.
But, silent echos cannot whisper in the dark, and my voice cannot be heard.
SO, I suffer more, all by myself.

Yes, You can see the wall, but, if you choose not to listen to it, you won't see what's behind it, on the other side.
You choose to be misunderstanding.
You choose to be ignorant, and brain washed by lies.
But, if you actually took your own time and tried to feel the wall without any fear, maybe, just maybe, you would truly understand.

So, I stare at this bland wall, has no opening, no space.
But when I heard and saw what was on the other side, my perception changed.
A metaphor of my misunderstood soul.
EP Robles Sep 2018
Mellifluous are the songs of moon
   lit lips  pressing a maddened
heart as mine!

This largest night ate the orchards
and  prismatic towns by the shores
   where waves say goodbye torturing
   women who have lost their sailors
                    on calmer nights.

Instead of life the sea has come
   has come to take from me
   all i have called normality

   what most who love may dislike
   what some who hate may balance
     i n   l i f e :
  a severe disinclination
    or tolerance for such as me!

so cold are some it feels as stings
     from a polar bee!


:: 09-08-2018 ::
solitary.  a very large world with a very small heart.  cold stares.  unforgivable indifferences.  petty quarrels.  the smallest of minds that have disconnected from feeble-sized hearts.
Alicia Allen Jun 2018
All food has lost its taste
and wine its buzz
Empty
there is no comfort in the sounds
no familiarity in the smiles
Empty
empty is how I feel inside
an important part of my soul is missing
I do not sleep, I do not dream
the emptiness yawns to swallow everything
return and take the missing part of my soul with you
come back and anchor me
for I am empty without you.
MDH Apr 2018
For those who taste nothing but bland food,
some sweetness is a welcome change.
But for others who know nothing but sugar,
that sweetness seems to turn sour.

Perhaps what you are tasting is not bland,
you have just become accustomed to sweet.
Bland has become my new sweet.
ellie anaïs Mar 2018
I have tasted how bitter the world could be,
and how sometimes you'd find clarity
at the bottom of a bottle.

I know that blood pretty much tastes like rust
and that instant sleep can come from a pill,
leaving a sickening aftertaste.

I know how liquor burns your throat
and how it fast forwards everything
while you're stuck in slow motion.

I know how tears
aren't that different from seawater—
you'd drown in either, one way or another.

I've become numb enough
to tolerate fire and venom,
numb enough to say
that the world tastes bland.

My appetite for life
continues to deteriorate.

I no longer want to taste
the world in all its flavors,
I no longer want experiences
served on silver platters.

No matter the presentation,
Nothing ever seems worth savoring anymore.
alex Nov 2017
have you ever tried to write poetry
when you’re not at all feeling poetic?
when life isn’t necessarily ugly
but it isn’t necessarily beautiful either?
when you could talk about
the sonder you try to feel
as the people sitting at tables around you
eat their food, talk on the phone, finish their homework, sip their coke
do whatever it is they do
when you could talk about how the
chill of this air reaches underneath
your goosebump skin
and draws out a shiver, a chatter
when you could capture the sounds
of the ice machine
and the clicking keyboard keys
and the rusty sliding of chairs on
a linoleum floor
when you could write about
whatever you **** well please
but it just doesn’t come to you?
have you ever been too tired
to feel tired?
god, i wish i were awake.
life is happening
and where am i?
one of those moments where i realize that at any other time, i would be feeling such wonder for all the people sitting around me, i would feel such gratitude for life, but i just don't right now. i don't know. @life don't move on without me; i know you've tried before.
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