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A fat man is walking,
with no boots on,
there he goes that *****,
on his great journey around.

He is staring at the reality,
from which he is away,
misery surrounds him,
and he laughs now at them.

The pain of all is a mockery,
to the fat man,
who has no boots on,
this is just typical humanity.

He has no dealing with it,
why would he be bothered,
decided just to strut,
and walk all over their dread.

Mocks them, they will not,
never ever understand,
pain of never being happy,
they only know sadness with happy.

He cherishes the mad walk,
and keeps going,
with his bare legs,
on the mud-filled path.

Women nursing children,
shouts at him,
he laughs cause he only sees,
the pain and misery awaiting.

The fat man laughs at the worker,
the toiler, a man with blisters,
what is there to bleed from,
their grit makes him hysterical.

All this noise chases him,
and he still laughs,
running on a land dry,
runs with that maniacal grin.

His feet take him to,
child with broken dreams,
men with hollow eyes,
woman with dried soul.

Did he ever see,
what he wanted,
can the fat man understand,
the true meaning of being happy.

The pain he seeks is all he sees,
he sees the horror and sorrow,
he grins and then,
goes in hysterics.

For he is the fat man,
with no boots,
he just wishes pain,
cause he loves to hate.

Oh, he just loves to hate,
all the joy in the world,
he wishes on their soul,
who has ever seen the good days.

The never-ending grief,
he wants to see, but he knows,
that this pain will also end,
and he walks away before it be.

These men, women, and children,
will get the fruits,
of their toil and care,
as they will see it to the end.

The end where is the light,
which forever shall allude this man,
this fat man who runs,
mocking and hating everything.

He never stays, he is scared,
those hopes will get hold of him,
touch his darkened soul,
and he would stop, try and see.

He just wants all to become him,
to loathe in regret, shame and greed,
await the ever-increasing sadness,
all be a part of black hole misery.
Dylan Mar 2023
A patter of waves,
my hands adrift,
no silence soothes this graveyard shift.

My beacon turns and unveils the night
as I ache for calming in this forlorn rite.
I’ve no shelter from the maelstrom
gathering across the sea.
I’ve known for so many years now
the fate that falls before me.

The ocean grants
a melancholic gift;
a patter of waves, my hands adrift.
Dylan Mar 2023
Egg
Echoes of the water hymn
meander on empty boulevards -
I trod this sunken labyrinth on the sea.
I watch silk-clad cherubim
standing near the milky shards
as they join a haunted melody.

The girl sculpts lamenting statuettes
on the sunlit crown.
Countless hours within the tower
nesting angels in her lillywhite gown.

Ghosts of a shipwreck
pour into the starboard garden
and I paint their tears like pieces of an ocean.
They wander on the fore-deck
and sing as the eggshells harden.
I see to the dawn, filled with strange emotion.

She swims in the moonlight
as her body stills.
A winged flight in the fading night
while the chalice of golden wine overspills.
Dylan Mar 2023
Her home is between
a dream and consciousness;
old specter of dark quartz.
Cradling her spells in skin-bound volumes,
old weaver of animosity,
the priestess of remorse.

In the amber fens, she's painting ripples
with turquoise glow.
Dancing with her puppets in a hellish glade
with skeletal hands
reaching from the mud and snow.

Sat beside the creaking wheel,
she draws phantoms on her loom.
Stirring murky potions
and studying the architects of doom.

Oft gazes her eyes of jeweled fire
upon the black smoke of a spectral pyre.
Watch her scribbling our forsaken fates.
She Writes Mar 2023
They will steal your light
And then ask why you have become so dark
Andrew Mar 2023
I’m a chemical
substance
that’s been put
together
by a downward
spiral
of poor
genetics
SpiritHeart67 Mar 2023
I see no darkness in you.
I see only light
that the darkness
is attracted to
arsonpoet Feb 2023
fragments of us,
cerulean skies,
rambunctious weather, we sip our coffee.
the warmth feels like family, the touch of love,
the familial memory is now obsolete,
the the vapor prickling the skin,
rasorial in it's habit,
the flames have a life too.
the windshield wipers, convulse, wipe off,
the stains painted by a stranger's drops,
the sky weeps, in unison with the growling clouds,
they are hungry, because they are tired,
of hiding under the sun.
every person feels like a distant memory,
every feeling feels like a vapor of fantasy,
unbodied by objects,
this life has become a chairoscuro for my body and soul.
fragments of us,
i have come to love objects more than people.
because they cannot hurt me,
as they are metaphors i can understand,
but not feel.
Broken Pieces Feb 2023
Down,
           Down,
                       Down.
The farther I fall the darker it gets,
Lost,  
         Lost,
                   Lost.
Everywhere around me I feel these threats.

I’m falling faster but I can’t slow down,
All these eyes are looking at me as I look around.
My head is shrinking, and it begins to pound,
An escape is nowhere to be found.

Can someone help me?
Can I even be seen?
Please just somebody, Please just help me get free.

Stuck in a loop, forever feeling alone,
Putting myself out there but I remain unknown.
I just want someone to see my true self,
I’m tired of putting her away on the shelf.

I fall faster into the deep abyss,
The old times I simply reminisce.
As the loop continues, the void grows,
I feel like I’m dead and I’ve begun to decompose.

Falling,    
             Falling,
                          Falling.
Is anyone out there?
Alone,
            Alone,
                       Alone.
Now I’m losing my air.
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