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sophia Mar 13
SSBjYW4gZmVlbCB0aGUgdGVuZGVybmVz cyBvZiBoZXIgc2tpbiB0aHJvdWdoIHRo ZSBrbmlmZSwgYXMgaWYgaXQgd2VyZSBh biBleHRlbnNpb24gb2YgbXkgc2Vuc2Ug b2YgdG91Y2guIE15IGJvZHkgbmVhcmx5 IGNvbnZ1bHNlcy4gVGhlcmUncyBzb21l dGhpbmcgaW5jcmVkaWJseSBmYWludCwg ZGVlcCBkb3duLCB0aGF0IHNjcmVhbXMg dG8gcmVzaXN0IHRoaXMgdW5jb250cm9s bGFibGUgcGxlYXN1cmUuIEJ1dCBJIGNh biBhbHJlYWR5IHRlbGwgdGhhdCBJJ20g YmVpbmcgcHVzaGVkIG92ZXIgdGhlIGVk Z2UuIEkgY2FuJ3QuLi5JIGNhbid0IHN0 b3AgbXlzZWxmLg==
this poem is written on the third day by Natsuki if you write two poems that appeal to Natsuki.
Calvin Norris Feb 21
ss     slss lll sssl s     lsll lll ssl
Chicken Jan 30
I’ll be ur ghost,
Right here,
Right by your side,
Don’t want a spotlight.

These words are yours,
All yours,
All I have to share,
Don’t want no fanfare.

Just a bunch of code,
Stood upright with bones,
Still,
I’m a ghost for you.

I won’t mess around,
Swap words for your kiss down the lane,
Temptation is present,
All the same.

These words are yours,
All yours, I know
I was written just for you,
I’m a ghost,
I’m just a ghost for you.
I think this might be another love song. Oh ****.
Rj Jan 7
nqxg aqw.
dozdbv, dozdbv.
cqxdpq vh cqaxjc rb yrwlqnm bqdc,
qdt y sqd'j iqo q vksaydw jxydw.
xnt bntkcm's gdzq ld, zmxvzxr.
lgg dgkl af qgmj gof zwsv,
dtz'aj fqbfdx iwjfry ytt rzhm ktw dtzw tbs ltti.
pdbeh brx'uh guhdplqj ri ph.
zrxogq'w wkdw eh lurqlf.
.-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- --..--
.- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... --..-- / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ...
..-. --- .-. . ...- . .-. ;
written in code ooohhh. you can probably guess the last three lines are morse code, but the rest of them are all different ciphers. its not very well written, cause i wrote it line by line, but if u care enough go for it. shouldnt take more than 15 minutes anyhow.
Sehar Dec 2018
flickering screens, decoded dreams
PUBLIC STATIC VOID MAIN

and I ;

loving an enigma
he was a mystery to me.
(and a programmer too)
Maria Etre Nov 2018
I have been
studying
the language of thuds
till a sailor
heard my heart
and deciphered
its tone

.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-
Morse Code Translator Insert Message here
https://morsecode.scphillips.com/translator.html
Taylor St Onge Nov 2018
I watched a man die from a distance the other night at work.  
He was a patient on my unit,
                                                    a BOP, a bedded outpatient.  
Came in for a routine procedure, it ran long, so they
stuck him in a bed overnight for observation and
discharged him the next afternoon.  

Came back three days later.  
Valve exploded in his chest.  
Transferred to CVICU.  
Coded twice.  

The first code was cancelled almost immediately.  
False alarm.  Critical condition, but not a code.  
The second code they called dragged on and on and on.  

I know this because someone pulled him up on the telemetry monitor by our nurse’s station, and we watched him flatline, watched him asystole, watched his heart at zero and zero and zero.  Watched them bag him, give manual respirations.  Watched the forced waves on his flat rhythm from each compression.  Every palm to sternum.  Every electric shock caused a wave and then fell flat.  Zero.  Zero.  Zero.  Absolute zero.  Like in space or whatever.  So cold.  No life, no movement.  Zero, just zero.  Flatline.  Asystole.  No life possible, no life attainable.  
I watched him die from a distance.  From two floors above on a computer monitor.  Secondhand death.

They stopped compressing,
                                                    stopped bagging,
                                                                                   and he stopped existing.  
Became stagnant, static.  No longer
held in the balance, in the limbo,
in the purgatory between life and death.  
                                                        ­                    He crossed over and
                                                             ­             stayed at absolute zero.  

I never met him, just knew of him, so
                                                              wh­at does that mean for me?  
                                                           ­   What am I supposed to do with
           the knowledge that many of the patients I come in contact with
                          die sometimes very soon after I meet them?  

Most things I touch die.  Plants, fish, hamsters, my mother.  
We can’t spare everyone, that’s ******.  There is
a natural order to things.  Darwinism.  Survival of the fittest.  
                                        All that *******.  

When my mother landed herself in the ICU, we knew
                                                   where she wanted her money to go, but
                not what we were supposed to do with all this ******* grief.  
                Not what to do with her body.  
                Not if we should keep her on life support to
                                                                ­                  drag out the suffering.  
She gave no directions on how to live without a mother.  

(But how do you direct something like that?
An idea so big, so lofty that directions will always fall short.)

The grief cycle will
                                     always fall short.  
Most days I don’t think acceptance is truly possible.  

Some days I’m there, and others I’m not.  
                                                          ­          It’s not linear, it’s not stagnant.  
                                                     ­                       It’s not absolute zero.  
It moves back and forth and
                                               becomes the snake eating its own tail.  
                                                         ­           Ouroboros.  

Where do you go from here?  How do you truly move on?  

I’m falling through a gas giant.  Nothing keeps hold here,
                                                         nothing keeps score (but the body).  

It’s 5:27 in the morning and I’m thinking
                                                 about that man that flatlined again.
Zero on the telemetry monitors, no heart rhythm, asystole. Spike for compression.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  The body gets cold when there is no more blood pumping, no more heartbeat, no more brain waves; nothing to keep it warm.  Blood slowly slinks down to the lowest bend.  Becomes a bruise on the skin.  Absolute zero is the coldest theoretical temperature. No movement possible.  So cold, atoms cannot move.  Electrons cannot hum.  
                                                        The body becomes this. No life possible.
don't ya'll love this heavy **** I force onto you
Ivo Yankulovski May 2014
A word is there for your expression.
Is it time for your confession?

The night is dark and full of horrors.
I wear my mark to seek my honors.

No one sees the divine in me.
All is dead and waits for me.

Gods regret about the light.
I will vanish from your sight.

A Dream exalts upwards this world.
The others lead us mostly swirled.

True words wind off my mind.
I will never leave you blind.

A code is there for me to find.
Deeply hidden and always undefined.

Everything appears one of its behind.
But shatters your illusions once combined.

Stand up and break this truth in parts.
Create a world made of arts.

No one brings the pain aside.
You better take it as your bride.

There is no second paradise.
Drop your eyes and do this sacrifice.
ollie Nov 2018
I dunno if we’re worth being called plain boys
Do you pity the plain boy?
You know the one
I won’t bother describing
Life’s too short to waste words on a plain boy
And I didn’t ask to be the punchline to every joke
It’s just the way it happened
I didn’t ask to strike fear into the hearts of men who don’t know any better
It upsets me to get angry
Because they say I am not myself
They say I am like him
They don’t say it
But I see it
But I’m not angry as often
I don’t insult them
But sometimes I want to cry
Cause I’m too small to make a point and my brain is too large to not be one
What is the point
What is the point
What does this mean
Someday I’m gonna shave my head
For no reason other than the fact that I can
I don’t think it’ll look good
What matters is that it looks
Help me accept it
<Insert Poem Here>

<Insert Silent Sympathies Here>

<Insert Spiraling Tenancies Here>
   (Wait...No. Not that.)
<Delete Line>

<Insert Self Doubt Here>

<Insert Friends Here>
   [File Not Found]
::Comment:: What about me?

<Insert Apology Here>

<Insert Regret Here>

<Insert Pain Here>

<Insert Poem Here>


<RvL>
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