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Trefild Sep 2023
единица человекоподобная (единица)
почти ни для каких дел не пригодная
побег от реальности собственной
время коротая беспрофитно
пред экрана прямоугольником
и будучи опоясанным комнатой
чёртовой как обстановка наипаче комфортная (комфортная?)
увлекаешься рифмонаписаньем, а толку-то
если рифмы не слышны, аки heartbeat покойника?
так что, если говорить касаемо тобой сочинённого
одной из уместных формулировок для
обозначения статуса оного
есть: "на кладбищенском участке покоится"
и чёртового шагу не пройдено
на пути к монетизации творчества
в то время как у пятнавших приборы для
письма, микрофоны в по[а]–следнюю декаду рифмовщиков
["декада" в значении "10 лет"]
служащих творческим компасом
для масс потребл#дского общества
и мямлящих полуразборчиво
свои мыслеизрыгания, в коих рифмовки да
смысловой нагрузки не больно-то водится (гр-р-ра!)
то бишь те, что в разрезе квалификационном находятся
рядом с изрыганиями других dumbed down рифмоплётчиков
типа Инсташмары и Моргена
(бабки, цацки, тряпки, бл#ди, тачки! гр-р-ра!)
["сдвинув шапки набекрень, рэперы самозабвенно сочиняют по#бень"]
так вот, карманы у оных, как
в веке 19-ом прииски калифорнийские, зАлиты золотом
пока ты всё так же занимаешься постингом
как часовой на сторожевой башне, ты топчешься
на месте, ведь у тебя мышление заведомО побеждённого
"эта деятельность - какая-то сложная
для меня, мотивация - как влиятельность общества
на государство, что авторитарно построено
[проще говоря, отсутствует]
влом разбираться, навряд ли что сложится"
лишён хоть чегО-либо, ради чего поутру хочется
активироваться, как если б являлся андроидом
оттого и посещаема башня твоя
самолИ–квидации помыслом
["Сомали"]
порой; однако, едва ли сия
близка тебе опция
ибо у тебя, а-ля особь, недоеданьем страдающая
кишка - пипец тонкая
["особь, недоеданьем страдающая" имеет связь с вышеупомянутой Сомали ➔]
[➔ в том плане, что в Сомали - один из наивысших уровней голода во всём мире]
да и не сказать, что не желал бы ты большего
но твоё сознание чёртово
как лошадь, всадником страхов, безволия закабалённая
внутри всякого тёмного
и отрицательного навалено стОлько, что
оного разгребающий чокнется
личность-антиутопия (если можно сказать таким образом)
но не подумайте, не насилуема пара полушарий загоном о
том, чтоб человек был совершенным, аки утопия
скучным оное смотрится
да и, from the global viewpoint, человечеству и вовсе придётся то[а]–
–гда вымереть, посколь невозможной для
него является с природой гармония
не наблюдается оной также внутривидово
длящееся издавна
власть имущих противостоянье индивидуу[–]мам
что свободномыслящи и привержены некой справедливости
[всё относительно]
личность-антиутопия
посему надобны, как в скандале с посольством в А–
–ргентине, чемоданы наркотиков
ванны наркотиков, целый грузовой авиалайнер наркотиков
чтоб улететь прочь от всего, что было недавно изложено
шприц объёмный, кАк 3D графика
и чтоб в нём - красители
не имею, как порядка примерные стражи, понятия
[обыгрывается "понятия" в значении "правила криминального мира"]
о чём помыслили
вы, но не имелись ввиду вещества, что варганятся
путём химическим
"мёртво-депрессивный рифмопоток" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Trefild Sep 2023
have you ever felt like you're trapped
in a prison you self-erected & cast
yourself into? like life's something you're terrible at
existentially wack so dreadfully that
there's a reasonable question to ask
where are your testicles, chap?
'cause, like a man that commits a va[ɛ]nishing act
once he detects that his lass is expecting a brat
the way you live is cowardly; a hell of a lack
["way you leave"]
of ***** akin to sO̲mebody bereft of his nads
comfort zone ain't
much different from a coffin you are a hostage to
A̲lthough no way a freaking throat spray
will treat you okay
["coughing"]
if you want to live akin to those a[eɪ]—
—zure-hued pills treating fever or pain
["want Aleve"; "want to leave [the coffin]"]
you've gotta Beatrix Kiddo your way
outta it; in fact, I'm 'bout to evince one more way
[the "outta the grave" scene from "**** Bill: Vol. 2"]
by which you portray the thing aforenamed
that ***** reminds of a tempting she-devil; you have
["attempting"]
if you wanna feel good
to ream it, like a guy, keeping it broad, stretched like a ****
or else it's gonna be you
the one winding up f#cked, much like a chief authoritarian das—/a##—
—****/—hole when his dishono[—]rable rule
winds up effing collapsed; like a pestilent brat
you get it, but your co[ɑ]nstant pla[ɛ]n of attack
is digital escapism helping to kick aside depression, a tad
though; 'cause no matter how much you la[ɛ]m, you get back
into the real—nE̲ss that you have
which is quite a mess like a lass'
coif when she's outside, & the weather is trash
raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
[opportunism]
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides (ha-ha)
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned (a wake)
'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
[German "scheißer", which is something like English "f#cker"]
them go, like the face of a wa[ɑ]nton babe being swived, ablaze
the rhyme-insane, yet quite cheap, brain
is, like the most upright stiffs reign—ing for a long time, depraved
thanks to the West-produced mass
culture (tha[ɛ]nk you a stack) & has a relish/penchant for gals
with looks of models composing the "dekok plus" class
["dekok" (Esperanto) - "eighteen"]
the problem's most of those lean to[—]ward sE̲lf-confy lads
and are mostly/mainly 'bout lettuce, in fact
[money]
which makes me remember the Jack
the Ripper case (letters)
[more than 200 letters signed as "Jack the Ripper" were written]
so, as for a GF̲ for a chap
like that, having one seems like an excellent pad
[house]
for a beggar to have; impossible like a saint autocrat
(like a saint autocrat; absolute absurdity)
forget it, let's yap
I mean, let me get to something else I would yap
about; not an oriental-grown chap
but into rhyming 'cause I'm a perfectionist that
["ramen"]
takes this thing as something he's no[ɑ]t ineffectual at
if not for the aesthetical cast
["cast" in the sense of "outward form", etc.]
which is rhymes, I'd not even bother tryna express all this crap
[especially, the personal one]
'cause what's the point when nigh-on no fellow reacts
to whatev' you say or demonstrate?
remember I had the more pleasura[—]ble past
virtual realities, not having to go to a jO̲[ɑ]b that stinks
nO̲ stupid po[ɑ]litics (these were the times)
which is ****̲te you can't take null notice of 'cA̲U̲[ɑ]se you twig
it's the post-enlightenment time gO̲ing on, A̲[ɑ]lthough it's
a giant & atrocious auto[ɑ]cracy
you abide in, as if you were related to the dude presiding
as the head of the big state kept, like a group of do[ɑ]gs in—
—volved in a mush, united; in terms of music, I̲ went
["you are Biden"]
from somewhat generic electro[ɑ]nic
sh#t, both, ba[ɛ]ngers & melo[ɑ]dic
ones to heavier & dA̲rk sh#t; however, I, regardless
still dig some graves like a fellow with boneY̲A̲rd shifts
[Christian Mochizuki, better known as "graves"]
though wouldn't tE̲ll that I am go[ɑ]thic
given that, it's okay I̲f I
["if I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "ifa"]
would get benamed with the
word "grave-digger"'; might as well take mE̲ a
****** ***** 'kI̲n/sI̲m. ta
a playing card; though I, as I've said, am no[ɑ]t
[a card with "spades" suit]
gothic, outdoor appa[ɛ]rel's all black (all black)
like a visitor on a cemetery plat
in the course of a burial act
void inside, an atramental-hued gap (mental)
which makes me something like
a walking black hole, as well as the fact
that I'm surrounded by
space like it; kind of Arthur Fleck that's yet to turn mad
which sounds a mite
hair-curling like waving, so, before you find
yourself a bit horrified, let me get that clarified
to be more precise, a marbles-wise
lighter case, 'kin to a lighter casing
with the web to distract myself from the lack—
—luster realness, yet, with all thA̲t
flammable crap, ptui, I mean negative crap
I'm like a walking ba[ɛ]rrel with gas
it's better not to set a lit match
my way, it's appa[ɛ]rent, just A̲s
a ****** stem a pear has, a psychotherapy cab's
["a pear end"'; "cabin"/"cabinet" in the sense of "private room"]
where I should be spending the time of mine
instead of sitting in the bedroom inditing rhymes
as if you hit upon rhymes so tight
that their existence is considered a kind of crime (indicting rhymes)
but I'm the type with a b#tch of a mind: if I
have not a really distressing existence, then I am fine
like that dog sitting inside, despite
the room inside which it sits
is, like someone after an imbibing spree, lit (this is fine)
in other words, as it's been divulged not long ago
I stay pU̲t in comfort zone
like an autocratic **** roosting on the throne (scuuurred)
["****" in the sense of "****", "*****", etc.; "skirt"]
————————————————————————————————
implausible as it may sound, a bullish thought's approached
[implausible" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "implausibowl"]
my mind: I may be someone looking lost, although
I, unlike someone unable to move or gone, still go (that's the spirit!)
dull right to (like an average new-school rapper) **** nowhere
["dull writer"]
"a depressive rhymefall" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
leeaaun Jul 2023
whenever you want to
give your heart
to someone

just check
they are safer than your comfort zone
Faiq Arif Dec 2020
Lemme collect these shambles, ones scattered in the name of cards ungambled. Battles that left me rattled. Pieces that never fell together.

Realisations gone to tatters. Memories forgotten, altogether. These pieces of armor unfused forever.

Energies wasted in mindless splendor, with ideals crafted in inks without matter.  

These caricatures of youth, wasted in canvas of unwritten letters.

These realisations altogether, left us with spirits now dampened.      

Realisations, you say? No its the room, the walls, the paint, the comfort, the pain that has left you with these echoes, voices that never mattered.
Faiq Arif Dec 2020
Let's flee together to distant shores, with sights to behold, tales of the melodies untold.
Teeming fields with blisters of hope.

Even as we flee, i want you to look forward, give into these sensations, let these emotions flow.

Memories or stories untold, to the future, pass the baton.
Sail through the winds, cruise with your fragile tows.  

Let it go, let it loose. Become a force, not a man. With energies unparralleled, swift as wind,  ride your horses without a saddle.  

For you have lost none, except the fields  you have never battled.
This piece is about getting out of one's comfort zone and embracing change. Many of us give up on our dreams along the way and simply give into the very tug of life
marjo Sep 2020
a place where i ought to be,
somewhere i can be,
a place for my dreams
and nightmares,
but i somehow ended up
anywhere near
but my safe haven.
Nylee Aug 2020
it was always this
a routine
it could have been different
but it is in line
going out of line
the usual unusual design
the impending death of routine
the beginning of the changing times.

some days you start
with a want of change,
but the change
changes you in so many ways,
it has its consequences,
constantly changing,
no matter what
and you are stuck in the routine
resist it even if it is a good thing
but mostly it is bad
rarely it never is.

known problems
follows a routine
but unknown
it is a pandora's box
you never know
the enlisted
routine to follow ahead
tweaks and tricks
and, back to the road.

it challenges you
changing your views
doesn't listen to you
you don't know
who to turn to
it is so out of
discomforting
comfort zone.

I know it is imminent
the make and break of routine
I am rarely going to pass my years
just like this
inside my bedroom
with the closed doors.

It is happening
I cannot follow my previous year routine,
talking to same five people I have known
you have replaced me from your routine,
It is changing, I am changing
so are you
You don't need me the way I do.
Himanaya Bajaj Aug 2020
Getting out of one’s comfort zone,
Trying out travelling alone,
Making decisions that are risk-prone,
Is no doubt difficult - like trying to live without a phone!


Often leads to breakdowns,
Often makes one look like a clown
And often makes one frown.


But then if one doesn’t live for these things,
They are just like a bird without wings.
Even if their day-to-day life doesn’t sting,
They miss out on life and all that it brings.
Sourabh kotecha May 2020
Why would that beautiful winged bird run?
Unaware of its wings, or all its wisdom shun?

Could it not see the beautiful infinite sky?
Only crawl, walk and run, will it never fly?
Birds, small and big, in awe of its wings
Surprised, how happily it walks and sings
Its never too late to start, wiser birds say
'To move on ground is a child's play
God blessed you with wings to fly,
Running makes your dear ones shy.'

The bird never seemed to pay heed
Will tree never grow out of the seed?
Grounded the bird practised to live,
He couldn't fly, he was forced to believe
Inspiring thoughts and it did take an airy jump
Far from a flight, it was a little ****
Afraid to fall, the bird never flew
And slowly, was left out of its crew
When you fly, your wings are put to test
On ground, it could afford to rest

Were those wings to go in vain?
Or fooled, to quit the sky to choose plain?
Why would that beautiful winged bird run?
Being unaware, or all its wisdom shun?
دema flutter Apr 2020
comfort
is such a foreign zone
that I long for,

a land that I can't seem to
be able to spot
on any map,

people tell me
its borders are indefinite,

and i tell them,
please take me
to the mother
I have never known.
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