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In the middle of a blank canvas
Sits little more than a drop of ****.

When the painter dips in to his palette,
The colours squeal an old-fashioned salute-
His favourite reunion: ash with dust.
He cannot see them well enough
Look closely; his eyes are thick with foil
And his pinkie jerks to drop the brush-
What passion gives, boredom can quickly spoil-

But he paints not for the sake of the colours,
They may to him be stains from any meal;
The calloused hands ache for a pinprick
Of the higher love the calloused heart can’t feel.
Gil Cardoso Feb 11
Light of the lamp
In my eyes
As I hold tight
And stamp my approval

These are nor lies
But a truth that is brutal
Only to me
As no one can see
Blindness of not being me

Preconceived belief
As the proper pupils
Pave a path
They think their own
But they are not alone

They read another passage
On a piece of paper
Lose their independence
And lose their nature

And so we follow the proper path
The papers we read
Written by one who laughs

So shine that lamp
In my eyes again
I cannot read the proper paper
So the pupils I won’t befriend
Written: 9 February 2019
Chris Feb 3
A killer that has never killed,
Got close but I never did.
A player that don't play the game,
An arrow without bow and aim,
A ****** who can't get laid ,
I'm a *****, but I don't get paid,
A momma's boy that got abused,
A gambler who's got nothing to lose,
A beggar, king most often fool,
I play chess, don't know the rules,
Gotta gun that don't have bullets in,
I'm a sinner but I can't sin,
I play and play but I can't win,
I indulge my every whim,
I done **** and I feel fine,
Didn't have ***** to cross the line,
Kick the head and let him bleed,
Go get ****** and do some ****,
Now I got a job and wife,
It's boring and I hate my life.
I'm a loser with nothing to lose,
I'm a fool  who works for fools.
A mock rap song about my ****** life.
Mika Jan 29
Ugh.
Asynchronous.
Another late night for me
Another early morning for you.

This clockwork life of work and
school is getting quite
monotonous.
Sigh.
The unconscious stream of words,
a loquacious man yet he's so insecure.
always has so much time to talk in the day.

he can never be here for you nor can he stay,
he is detached  by nature, but can charm any woman away,
don't be fooled by his confidence.

it's the unconscious stream of words.
talkative smooth talker  detached woman love
'nother vict'ry in the war
'gainst the threat of being bored
I'm fine. all I'm killing is time
Ian Robinson Jan 16
I do a lot when I'm bored
None of it good
Sara Brummer Jan 15
Chattering birds, not colourful
But friendly in their own grey way.
They make a lot of noise,
Not really saying much
But making a big effort
To be understood.
So willing to help
But not to commit,
Each proposal embraced
By a disclaimer; they mean well,
Of course, they do.
Their motivation can’t be faulted,
But there’s need for a psychic, a mind-reader,
For everything’s insinuated, nothing discussed.
So many points pronounced, declared,
Underlined, exclamated but not communicated,
Feeling no empathy, we all put on our coats
Against the cold draft of confusion.
.
Yuki Jan 5
I’ve never loved myself enough
to love another human being.
Love is practice and I’ve
only practiced hate.
I’m a mixture of
fear and boredom.
Never understood what
could make other people
happy.
My favorite hobby
has always been guessing
what could hurt me
the most.
And then do it.
How am I supposed to know
joy and gift it?
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