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David Hilburn Nov 2023
Urges, we never said...
Were the time, the thoughts of open bother
Of a sleeping prophet, with silence to lead:
A care into the limelight, with heaven to hover

A brassier share, in the need of promises
Sent from guarded selves, a world which delves
Integrity is mine for a shall and a swallow of vices
That remembers you, when patience looked for life's health

Speaking of hell...
Strange invaders, strangers in the mystery of this yarn
Weal no more, than a crash of existence, we know so well
Letting mercy see my upset, a habit has me by the toe I shall learn...

Is it me, or did I just wake up?
City's of strength, and the embarrassment of delicate poise
Have opened their doors, to a solitude that has become a covenant
With the voice we add, is silent warnings of another's choice?

Tell me the story, comes my conscience
A hap of retribution in the same, the shadows of a scream
I have made, a promising God, a sign of the times to presence
That has looked, and seen our terror, the bitterness of a demon...

Save me from a stone of kinship, with a kiss...?
Proper shape to a wish alive, in sordid chance, a wind
Of guidance and justifying malevolence, that has stolen my wish
From the heart of me, a stare of pining finish to a lie to mind...

Pillows make fast friends, if shade is forever cool, intrepid...
Interest in a careful window, is many to fathom a liberty in shyness
Acts and paces of facts, run faster than all of the powers that are, hid
When children dance, the seed of specialness is a call to wisdom's bless...?

Care for another, victim of insincerity?
Long truth's and the tomorrow of interim
Has a rather chosen, possession of sardonic not, the charity
Of privilege run so far, for a wicked dream to lend...

Cough, cough; palpable
Anecdote to share a legend, no man has let live
Longer than a kiss in the heat of a kindness to ****...
Seeing is believing, even when our hope in a purpose above, a world in love with what we give...?
I owe kindness myself, with an air of trepidation that reminds dread is like a friend, was...
Megitta Ignacia Apr 2022
Eighty years young
Speaking in tounge

Your body fought
Head full of bizarre thought

Arms and legs restrained
How are you not frightened

Are they violent, Yah?
We tried, everything,
for the shake of your revival

I can't bear to see you like this
I wish you are dismiss

Heavily sedated & exhausted
To tired to wrestled & agitated
Lord please take his pain away
090422 | 18:28 in Borromeus ICU's waiting room. Dari kemarin dadakan dari kantor langsung ke airport ke bandung. Ayah kritis. I go bcs mama papa minta langsung ke bdg. It's painful to see him like this. God give him mercy please.
annh Nov 2020
We burrow where they lie, our fallen brothers. Old sweats and fledgling crow bags, both. In death as in life, they have our back…and so we plough on into the abyss by the light of a caged phosphorus flare, hot metal spraying the midnight hour like some vengeful fay’s buckshot.

A human scaffold supports us for the distance of four miles. That’s Piccadilly to Hampstead; Circus to Heath. The length of a lifetime…of  hundreds of lifetimes. In the winter when the rains come and the trenches run like a quartermaster’s latrine, the soil sloughs away to reveal the ossuary within. It is then that I, in my now customary delirium, imagine that I can reach out to shake their hand again.

‘Sunrise and sunset are blasphemous…only the black rain out of the bruised and swollen clouds…is fit atmosphere in such a land. The rain drives on, the stinking mud becomes more evilly yellow, the shell-holes fill up with green-white water, the roads and tracks are covered in inches of slime, the black dying trees ooze and sweat and the shells never cease…they plunge into the grave which is this land.’
- Modris Eksteins, Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age
Do you hear the muttering?
Foul and desperate falsities fencing through the air?
Do you hear them cluttering, in fickle clamor over futures in despair?
Certainly you hear them fluttering?
In a fervent dichotomy facing disrepair.
All I hear is fomented stuttering, Sowing division, in deleterious affair.
Psychostasis Jul 2020
Pages of burning emotion flutter through the wind
Flipping from one end of my journey and milestones to the other
Letting the sun kiss each page as it transfers

The ink is dry
But the blood, and tears I've graced these pages with are very much still running through the words planted in the same field.

My pen screamed and etched images of my future
As my brain burned with a passion magnified by a deep sickness

And as the gunshots of thought blare
My pen rams the pages

And then silence
The scribbling scratches of the quill quiets down
And the accelerated breathing turns soft and shakey

The Prophet ends his journal entry
With a slice of the thumb
A bit of blood smeared on his art to ensure his life stays with it
And a night of deep sobbing stalking closely behind.
Maria Mitea Jun 2020
in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                        ­  
your cigar                                      
is glowing
in the dark
as a steady light
gripping                                                        ­   
on my heart
without flame
or blame 

in a moment of                                      
I am
yellow fume
and coughing
in a room
filled with
perplex glow
Illusion, seeing only what we want to see, and not seeing what actually is ...
Luna Maria Dec 2019
I've been warned
about something
so dangerous
it can ****
" it's called love "
they said
but I answered
" It might **** me one day,
but it's also my one and only
reason to live."
love is a venom and will **** you slowly
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