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malluraeh Oct 7
the serpent eats its tail
in my backyard
it waits patiently to
scar my back
remove the snakes,
they'll come again
the circle of life
fight back in vain
don't mind them
Butterfly Sep 23
You can't control feelings.
Feelings control you.
I thought about this while I was eating a whole cake by myself and I have no regrets.
One contested definition of a circle is:
A polygon with an infinite number of sides...

- A woman in a pretty skirt walks to work at night aware of the stares she receives, ashamed to quietly be thankful for the attention.
- An old man looks at the crystal ball in his hand, glimmering and shiny, and suddenly understands mortality
- A young boy examines the body of his best friend, cries for hours, then places the dog’s collar around his wrist.
- An old lady suffers, unable to meet her own needs, and wonders where the children she ignored have gone.

- A young man finds his soul mate but loses himself in her.
- Forty-five teenagers wage war on Friday night, their screams of triumph pierce the night air, yet Saturday feels empty and tastes of despair.
- A middle-aged father of three hunts a fresh rose in the moonlight, unaware his wilted rose no longer has thorns.
- A woman in a business suit bangs against the glass, thick and heavy, and shudders when it fails to crack.

- A squinty-eyed man makes good on his debt after years of being gone, then walks off the roof of a forty-story building.
- A child of twelve is ignored by haggard-looking parents, yet cries go out when he, in turn, ignores a drowning victim.
- A wealthy entrepreneur, of sour looks, enjoys a fine meal by the shore, yet wonders why as the tide rolls in he still feels insatiably hungry.
- The drummer in a metal band sees his father’s face in the cowhide, yet each night after the show he still needs ****** to numb the pain.

Pythagoreans thought the universe Eternally Recurs, and we know human life has infinite potential.

If it's true that human lives eternally recur and are filled with infinite potential

Why are we all still in pain?
High Concept Sh*t
Sarah Sep 13
Septembers remind us
that change, while inevitable
is always beautiful.
That each season of life
brings different weather.
The flowers don't have to
be blooming year round
for our surroundings
to be full of color.
Transformation
does not have to be
growth to be necessary.
carpediem Sep 10
The alarm blares, its seven in the morning exact.

Her mind is bare and her memories can not extract
the happenings of the days that hurriedly passes,
burdens on her back, stranded, sigh; “surely the grass is
greener on the other side... it has to be! As this,
is no way to live, seemingly stuck in the abyss.”

Stiffening day to day regularities; mundane.

Everyday the same - soul crushing, she’s turning insane.

No change. Nothing to remember, a routine ingrained,
by her brain. Life cycle? The cycle through life remained
on the same routes without fail, no twists or turns in sight.

10 pm - night, wishful thinking she holds onto tight,
yearning for the twist of fate her days have greatly lacked.

The alarm blares, its seven in the morning exact.
- tried to keep it around thirteen syllables per line
In the leaves of Autumn
I fall into reds and orange
Existing in moments passing by
And crouching at winters feet
I sway with the breeze
Until it rips away the last of me
And I lay in reds and orange
Of Autumn leaves
Left scattered at the feet of trees
Winter will dismember me
And summer won't remeber me
For I will decay, life is fleet
At the feet of trees
I once was leaves
But Autumns trees
Sway in the breeze
It pulls those leaves
To lay in dirt decay
At the feet of Autumn trees
Ash Aug 9
Its been a while since I held my pen and wrote
It was a very difficult, long bumpy road
Nothing seems to matter anymore
Its a never ending cycle oh I’m sure
And the lie I keep telling my self
“Tomorrow is a better day”?
Oh what a waste of time when everything is gray.
Hereshecomes Aug 6
I circle around the halo
That stirs what lies below.
Spinning now
Only excess
materialises in belief form.
What is it about the chimera you construct
For those that don’t exist?
Gasping and grasping on
Slivers from a murdered past
You insist on perfecting gems in souls
Where there are none.
Let it rest my friend … or not
For the fury of Zenobia
Is still lighting
What remains of your life
And mine.
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