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It’s better to cover your ears.

It’s better to just close your eyes.

It’s better not to hold on to anyone.

It’s better if you will not feel any single
pain that I have been ignoring

this whole **** time.
Zack Ripley May 2019
You be my Bonnie, I'll be your Clyde.
Together, we'll take this life for one hell of a ride.
You be my Thelma, I'll be your Louise.
We'll get in the car and do whatever we **** well please.
Life on the run with the one you love may sound fun.
But no matter how far or how fast you go,
eventually you will always fly too close to the sun.
It may seem natural to flee
but it doesn't matter if you run from pain or fear.
Your mind is like an elephant.
It never forgets so your problems will always reappear.
What you choose to do is up to you.
But take it from me.
Talking about your pain will set you free
Where Shelter Apr 21
~for her~

I put up a 7 1/2 ft. chain linked fence to keep the ****** deer out
of the garden.

Secretly, I wonder, if I had the fence built
another half-a-foot higher,
could I’ve kept out the
no-longer-unimaginable disasters
life has seen
fit to shower upon me.

If I had it made solid,
instead of chain linked,
with barbs that nicked only me,
would have misery passed
me by, unable to peer inside,
my anonymity, being my personal
guardian and savior.

My garden’s yearly renewal,
comes by human effort,
but my wondering is unceasing,
it’s living ache, a perennial,
an evergreen hemlock,
that cannot be cut.

until such time, at last,
it chooses to cut me first,
and the garden retreats to its
aboriginal wild forest state, and
both our cycles are completed.
Yazad Tafti Mar 25
summertime quarantine
an infectious summer
vaccinated by its rays of semi-life evoking sunlight
lathered in a thin sheet of SPF
those eyes glazed,
window sill eye lashes
her window i saw ever so gracefully
but a window only shows the frontal view .
i want to observe every latitudinal angle
and beyond the periphery of my peripherals.

i'm always in social isolation when my eyes are locked in with yours.
these windows don't need NOOO windex ! :D
un-loved Dec 2019
His eyes were thick
with unadulterated love
and His arms were a place
that warmth never left.
He is.
yet i could not
call Him
to want something you will never have
Mark Upright Dec 2019
she confounds me with sweet raisins and nuts, accolades oh so
high the caloric content....

”Yours [poetry], is subtle,
that seek to grasp, hide and peek,
It charms like a snake a wake of ideas,
with innuendo, yet it's sublime,
a bell that chimes, a walk in hell,
a credo a charm, two-arms to keep one warm”

**** your praise, cursed encouragement,
leave me well enough to my audience of
the occasional stumbled on, the accidental tourists,
the who few nick my cheek when they randomly seek
a few minutes aside, an at-last-last-chance peek,
giving us both, the reader and criminal, pause,

the pause of
‘who wrote this?’
and it’s innate counter-mate of wonder,
when to my attention brought,
‘did I write this?’

**** praise, poisonous snakes only need apply,
the wake of my ship so quickly dissipates
upon the unmapped, unending Sea of New Poets,
where the 99% just drown the first time round,
and the remaining survivors  glory in fame so fleeting,
‘twere not for the unburied of the internet, their zombies
would too be shipwrecked, ungiving, undead...

a credo? not I.

a credo requires preaching, acolytes according a poet succored reams
of accusative praise, all such leads to ******* up to the egoland
where failures reside alone gleeful pride, and goes to die on bouquets
faded from by over caressing their petals, to floor dropped, in silent admiration, the imagined bells of hell ringing only in the ears
of the delusional deluded

my maturity existential, let it be forgotten, troubling no one,
a new audience of one, owning tickets of broken mirrored pieces,
my layers peeled back, this imagery unrecognized, not I, not I,
for fainted be, the poison of pride denied, for my writings writ
by an accursed one, long since buried in the faint ashes of
lost glorious forgotteness
but humbled nonetheless and it is the finale,
“two arms to keep one warm,”
with an elixir of words ear whispered,
**** you know my weakness, and now
my bravado erased by your single touch prophesied
Garrett Johnson Nov 2019
Breast pocket.

Haven’t written in a while.
Scarf drank some bleach.
He said he was fine.
the glue dried up.
But Sarah said she’d go get some new tarps.
Passed out form singing in a river.
Woke up without any legs.
I walked it off.
Till I remembered we have crimson hats and mittens.
It’s cold here at burning man.
Memphis time is the right time to shoot up.
The wires are crossed.
N the surfing is credible.
n I’m going & got tired half way thru this.
                                 Your son that never knew ya.
                                  Lighthouse Bukowski.

Garrett Johnson.
The tub is full of pain.
Anastasia Sep 2019
with a smile like that
you could get away with ******
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