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M Sep 2019
Six days of drinking,
partial insanity,
I drink ketamine,
and I slip from reality.

My eyes feel like they have sand in them,
my ears, mouth, nose, too.
oh ****...
they do.

Why am I paralysed?
Why can't I move?
I've been rolled up in plastic...
what the **** did I do?

On a beach in Cambodia,
thrown under a stage,
after I fell in a K-hole,
and emerged the next day.

The pain is too much,
I pass out willingly.
Wake up and I'm drowning...
Water is killing me.

I cling to the ladder,
my strength starts to wane.
I try to scream help me,
Then blackout again.

I wake up in a rowboat,
cooked by the sun.
Skin crimson and blistered,
oh, what have I done?

My ankle is broken,
no wallet no phone,
I beg for a ride,
please just take me home.

The kind stranger helps me,
drops me at my hotel.
I swallow five ******
and escape from this hell.
nick armbrister May 2018
The man was a real hard man often described in lower class words
By those who feared or respected or envied him
He was from Scotland and fought the Chinese Communists in Cambodia
In a backwater of the world that became a Cold War hotspot
For next door was Vietnam and the commies there fought the other commies
In a war that enveloped the area destruction on destruction
War happened and soldiers were deployed by all sides
Some of those troops were rather special ones
To do a special job in a ***** war where the killing wasn't clean
The hard man from Scotland was sent to a place far form his Highland home
His bagpipes were silent and stealth was his tool
Stalking ****** fighters in the Cambodian jungle
And doing what needed to be done to stop them dead
So we don't speaking Chinese now
Just like the Dead Kennedy's song that hailed a generation
Camdodian events remembered which fewer care about
The Scottish soldier is dead now but his widow remembers
It was her who told me the story of her SpecFor husband
How he played his pipes and won awards not just in battle
Him a Seargent Major Drill Instructor Full Metal Jacket style
Driving his car with his arms crossed barking orders and being the boss
Living in America with his American wife and drinking in bars
But being taken advantage of by the rednecks
In the nasty bars that wern't British pubs
More dangerous than the communist controlled Cambodian jungle
The life of the special forces soldier was certainly special
If not hush hush we don't talk about this it never happened
Except in the heads of the SAS troopers who were in Cambodia...
Carlos Oct 2017
Where we are is somewhere quiet.

Somewhere along the outskirts of a border town between Thailand and Cambodia.

I'm walking along what should be a desolate road under the glow of a late afternoon sky,

In the near distance a flock of birds shroud past a little girl being pushed around in a wheelbarrow by her brother.

I don't hear anything, everything has the volume turned down,

Muted to a still silence, and it's then I realize I've lost the rest of my senses too.

All but my sight, which is fixated closely on the most genuine smile and happiness I've ever come to witness.

Here and now has never been more imminent, for the first time in my history I might actually just be living in the present.
Aaron LaLux Aug 2017
She’s in Cambodia when she says,
“Company always matters,
but if it’s the wrong one,
I’d rather be on my own.”,

I’m in California when I say,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,

we’re on opposite sides of the world,
she’s at Angkor Wat just in from Dubai,
and I’m at home in Hollywood,
well not my home exactly just the place where I currently lie,

or rather the place where I lay,
because there are no lies here,
not between her and I,
because we’re,

two Stars shooting through the Infinite Sky,

and I want to fly to her right now,
I want to leave this city,
I want to be there,
with her at Angkor amongst all it’s ancient reliefs,

but alas,
we all have our lives,
different paths,
even when it’s led by the same guiding Light,

and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again,
at least I wonder if I’ll ever see her again in this life,

and I don’t know why I write,
I swear to God I don’t know even when I say I do,
because all I’ve ever gotten from these writings,
was all these cliches that I find in me and in you,

sounding like a cheesy pop song,
sounding like the voice of reason when everything’s gone wrong,
sounding like a lost Soul traveling the open road out here all alone,
leaving behind nothing but some faded memories and the words in these poems,

and when I hear her voice,
or rather read her text from my phone,
I get the feeling that as alone as I may be,
in that moment I am everything except for alone,

so when I get that call,
I know she feels exactly the same way,
and that’s exactly why,
I always listen when she explains,

she’s in Cambodia when she says,
“Company always matters,
but if it’s the wrong one,
I’d rather be on my own.”,

I’m in California when I say,
“I feel exactly the same way.”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of multiple best selling poetry books
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
the white crane
with paper wings
like paper planes
sails up above
and down
the muddy milky brown
it changes flight
goes out of sight
but its peace
will never leave me
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
and there…harold dreamt,
he dreamed of a boat,
one with a brown bottom,
and a rusty green rutter,
and it spun
and it spun,

the siem reap river,
of sunkissed toffee color,
he sailed on and on,
and stared at his brother,

he looked up above from the boat,
straight up at the hot steamy sun,
and his large white eyes,
stared up at a bird,

it was white and small,
with slender yellow legs,
that held a grace,
unlike any other

the crane flew in one circle above his head,
harold watched as it plummeted to the brown water below,
and at the last moment of its decent,
it shot up and across his horizon,
until it vanished
Kylia Dec 2014
The rich will always be rich,
Computers, clean body, nice clothes,
Proper homes, not shacks.
Elite schools, branded
Motorcycles, jewelry

The poor will always be poor,
A pen, a marvel
Firewood, abandoned train tracks
YMCA funded classes,
Hand-me downs, nakedness

Grandfather, father,
Son. Same lineage, same burden
To pass down
Generation
To
Generation
To
Generation.
A Never-ending cycle

Cruel game of Russian roulette,
Spin the revolver, watch it
Turn, pick it up, iron to temple
--BANG BANG-- you're dead.
The more the rounds, the
More
Lethal
It
Gets

It is a gap that cannot
Be plugged,
A boulder that cannot be put down,
Like Atlas holding the sky,
If released, the sky and earth
Collide, and we die--
All of us.
Everyone.
Sorry if this isn't really top notch, I didn't really have much time to dwell on it, just a basic idea, cause I'm in Cambodia doing missionary work. So bear with me please.

— The End —