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Kai Feb 2017
Drip drip,
Tear drops came From a slip,  
Hit my head on the wall,
My mind went on a trip,
Layed there on the hall
And no one payed attention at all!

I woke up on a hospital bed,
All confused and hurting on the head,
People were standing around me with faces full of dread,
I have lost my memory they said,

Oh what a ******,
I guess im now a gonner,
I sigh as i go back to my slumber,
And dream as i ponder,
Now i wonder,
What other events will come to me this Summer.
I got bored again ≖﹏≖
Madeleine Morris Apr 2016
I told you, I really did. I told you this was exactly what I didn't want to be & maybe thinking like this is just a product of greed but life was real because I was sad & it feels like I'm better but those are just letters on a page in an obituary no one has to write. What's the point in swimming if the water's too shallow? What's the point in living if this mind stays hollow? The rope has been refashioned & the guns been unloaded but that's as far as I can get in being goaded to lead this good life.

I can't even remember what I did this week.

I told you that not wanting to exist was what made it worthwhile & you told me it would be better if I was skillful, half smiled. I live life in the moment but forget it the next, so I'm not sure you were right to say this was for the best. My brain feels superficial, an art piece on the wall, are my only options to feel everything or to feel nothing at all? So yeah, I'm not sad anymore but I did tell you so, & now that I'm happy I'm scared that you'll go.
it's ironic because I'm trying to say that I feel happy now, but this poem is hella depressing
something so simple
is what this seems to be
i'd like to write about it
but i'm not angry with thee
in fact i'm quite content
sitting in this chair
knowing how you care
hoping you still have things to share
i'm safely taking caution
to not go off the deep end
staying safe with you on dry land
seems the best option
at least for now, you see
i don't want this to end
end at all, or dramatically
i'd like us to keep dancing
and keep it all so simple
but there's a problem i find
getting lost in those blue eyes
i've never met any of your kind
i'm slowly sinking into you
you are so appealing
as human being
you're nothing i've ever seen
that there frightens me
afraid i'll fall into a slumber
and you'll leave and i'll be a ******
Mark Thompson Nov 2014
Oil paints...what a ******
    My mistake
A spill on canvas
          I wipe and wipe to fix the "inspiration"
Before I know my eyes are fixed and fixed on...nothing

The painting's gone, my over thought of simple things
Has stormed again and taken from me
      That that I saw, and saw as a need

A force so convincing
Has broken,
shock! and gone a splintering

  And now
In wide eyed amazement
I stare at beauty staring back at me
From a chance meant
  To be
A happy accident

A smile

Martin Narrod May 2014
The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.

— The End —