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Francie Lynch Nov 2014
Small voices
Are muted by buds
Pounding the bass.
Like a headache,
Blurring,
Not wrong,
And jarring the song.

Bullies are wired,
The me's get hired
Carrying small compassion.
That Voice
Has no auditions;
We are type cast
In roles of contrition.
Don't slur,
Be demure,
Have patience
To hear
Your voice
To conclusion.

Join the dance,
Be resolute.
Hear the voice
With repute.
Aggie W Nov 2014
I wish I knew...
Was it your choice
Or did faith draw the line?
Were the stars not aligned
when you left,
leaving me aside?
Do you have conscience
of your selfish acts?
I'd rather think so
Yet we were just kids
Living on the edge of innocence.
Lata Oct 2014
Broken sentences
Masquerade
As
Master poetry...
What is the duty
Of a verse,
Other than
Showing mirror
To ones
Soul...?
Mere words
Seldom
Mean a thing..
Poem
Should shock the
Conscience...
Address your adrenaline...
Dead words
Can never mean a thing...
matt Oct 2014
the night is my enemies’s ally. at night my brain and i cross mental swords we fight each other until the day break. at night my brain doesn’t fight fair in my weakened state i am susceptible to my brains wicked ways. there are rules to war and my brain breaks everyone. it brings up the darkest of times constantly it makes no effort to fight fair. it always wins in the end and i succumb to its will my brain leaves me with not a swift death but another scar in my conscience. that scar i bare on the inside not allowing it to show on the outside or my mind will bring me to an end. I’m not sure if thats a bad thing anymore
V S Ramstack Oct 2014
i got high and masturbated until my hands were sore
a midnight breeze wafting through my room, the smell
of incense awash
i thought of you, of course i did, your fingertips
resting gently on my shoulders
kissing my cheek over and over as i turned to an ocean --
it was something in your eyes,
the way i could stare into the pupils until
i thought i could see through to the bits of you
behind your skull; i floated
inward, tugged and pulled, back to the place i was born,
to the place inside my conscience where
everything i've ever known resides.
My burning desire to kiss her golden lips
is easily satisfied
But my sinful urge to keep my eyes closed
leaves my indecision amplified
C Davis Oct 2014
I won't be the weak one,
Although when I think and speak
I may tweak some I'm just
Searching for reasons
To justify the swell.
I will ride the undertow
Sunken beneath bass lines 
And blunt tails
Intending to take it slow.
But I get a little excited sometimes, you know.
So when this undertow undoubtedly 
Washes me ashore
I'll be the imaginary statue 
Erected in my honor
Proudly saluting every fleeting
Emotion that sailed
Straight through my harbor.
You see, 
Harboring hatred is a trait
I forfeited
To make way for the minuscule moments and glimpses
Of human existence penetrating
Layers of jade and years
Of conditioning and I am successfully
Transitioning into persistently 
Acknowledging the raindrops 
As they hit the pavement and pop.
You see some people feel the rain
While others just get wet,
A wise Rastafarian 
Once famously said.
And I think on it all
Far too frequently for a quiet mind
But I've never had one of those
Not even after rolling papers
Intertwine and smoke fills my eyes,
Because I am accustomed 
To a constant consciousness
And I'd much rather this
Than nothingness
And thus I sit, contemplating 
Consequence 
Aspiring to avoid the guilt of 
Seasons past,
For I am past the point of
Punishment and pain ghosts and
I have plenty of pangs from all
The echoes
In my brain and in these
Rattled apartment's stains
It's not all in vain 
Life grows these varicose
Veins
Colored-in, crawling across the
Window panes 
Of the chamber where my soul remained
Through the bridge until the end of
The refrain.
I am in reign. 
I rock the crown.
I roll the dice when 
I am down
I try to think twice
Before I frown
I contemplate the value 
Of the men that I allow
To lay me down 
Now,
I am grown and I am proud
Because I am humble
And I'm not loud
Any longer,
I listen
To the subtle sounds of
Human respiration.
I am the incarnation
Of ancient incantations that
Shake down the walls which
Separate us all
All the way to the ground.
True power is found
Where unity resounds.
word ***** est. June 2014

property of c.f.davis
Zombee Oct 2014
-






this is just a Slum  --  this is just a Slum.
this is just a Dungeon full of monkeys n Crumbs...
they
rummage through the Trash  --  smashing yer Drum,,
strumming their guiTars  --  barring you in Cages.




this is a Furnace  --  this is a Furnace.
this is just a furnace full of ashes n Fern...
...first its yer Flesh  --  then its yer Nerve;;
burning to thee End  --  ending in an Urn.




this is a Prison  --  "this is just a Cell."
this is just a Shelter of a skeletons deMentia...
..."ever met the people with a needle in the Retina?"
never ever Ever  --  never even Seen em...

..."credit to the Devil  --  dwelling in Hell."




this is a Palace  --  "this is a Palace."
this is just a palace where the people give yer Words back...
..."acting as a Friend"  --  infecting yer Palate,,
slashing yer Tongue  --  "tugging yer Blanket"...

...thanks to yer Mouth  --  now i never Sleep.
yer
"speaking to the Wall  --  crawling with Shadows."






.
Silent........Silence:
the
loudest thing ive ever Heard.


Weak........Weakness:
the
strongest thing ive ever Felt.


Dark........Darkness:
the
brightest thing ive ever Seen.


Bitter........Bitterness:
the
sweetest thing ive ever Tasted.



"Smells Like Teen Spirit."


-



.
poetry, you comforting solace!
balm, on the chapped lips of cracked hearts,
soothing salve on the conscience of guilt
struggling, you find a space for yourself to snuggle in, hide and cry! :)
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