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Shanath Feb 2018
We look at them
And smile at their brilliance,

Do the stars look at us
And weep for our miseries?
I am gone
And now wish to be forgotten.

                               ( There was chaos to clean
                                                  Now I will read.)
Hannah Dubrow Feb 2018
This is what happens
When a Hope meets a Dream

A Hope wants something
It yearns, desires, and wishes
It survives on progress
A Dream is a fantasy
It's fragile and cherised
It survives on delusion

But when a Hope meets a Dream
And the Dream looks
A little like progress
And the Hope is
a little deluded

It can seem like a miracle
Until they both destroy each other
Nathan Tuy Feb 2018
I should have known.
I should have known that
Happiness is a gift,
A genetic mutation,if you ask me,
That I'd never know
How that feels like
Just like what music is
To a deaf person.
Tricked by my own mind,
My heart fell into the trap
That I set myself,
Let myself believe
That everything's alright.
Nothing is alright.
Nothing is fine at all.
Its all falling apart
And I've been refusing
To see the ruins
In order to spare myself some pain.
If only I knew,
If only I realized that
Everything looks more joyous
When you look at them
With your eyes closed.
Snehith Kumbla Jan 2018
supermoon!
super achievement!

we finally look away
from our cell phones...

three...
two..
one.

back to our
prolonged
eclipses...
Scrap Metal Jan 2018
i dont get it
i dont get us
sometimes im not sure i get anything
it might just be my downfall;
trying so hard to grasp it all
helplessly adrift, i fee like a rag doll.
people have the gall to portray what they are not,
we fight for equality
when honesty is an anomaly,
give credit to the pathetic
while the empathetic medic
administers an anesthetic
so he/she can save a life, unnoticed
but focused on which celebrity, out of Beverly
who got another synthetic appendage, unsatisfied with their genetic
aesthetic over utility
delusion over reality
we as a society coward away from reality
Nathan Tuy Jan 2018
If you've ever had dreams,
Don't ever underestimate them.
Because dreams are
Just a step away from reality.
And reality is a mere metaphor.
What's real is not real and
What's not real is also not real.
There is no line or border
That his grains of sand cannot cross.
I heard the cartoon dinosaur on the ceiling gossip
That I was going crazy.
But the crumbs of the chocolate croissant I ate in my dreams
Are the proof of my sanity.
I sometimes wish I could have nightmares instead
Because at least in nightmares,
I would still be able to be scared.
it's a constant stream of consciousness, the ultimate truth about how art and inspiration are just your perception and interpretation of life and the reality around you. listen to a song, and pause as the narration flows through your mind like sand through your hands – slipping through the hourglass and never staying quite on key. when your mind is always two steps ahead of the ink.

bury me with a pen, because god knows i’ll forever live in this altered state, and i’m destined to die here.

it’s about how everything makes you feel – how you’re more than human because you understand the true meaning behind the infinite universe and everything encompassing it. a super(ior) perspective. forever a self born monster with the hungry desire to dissect all in sight; until it means anything.

with all synapses firing, you understand the theories and ideas of the great intellectuals; the divine knowledge of utmost reality – art, beauty, life, humanity, and enlightenment. then you reach the darker side of the path; the bruised affair kept hidden from sight – the truth and knowledge and understanding of the mind of the serial killer, the sociopath, the ******; and the overwhelming desire to act upon it all. an unbearable struggle and battle within yourself to shut out the violence, to mask the hate and brutality – tucked in a corner for later analysis.

the truth is, this is enlightenment. ultimate inspiration and insight to reality. this state of being reaches your infinite heights, and these ideas are your pure gold philosophy. shine on, you crazy diamond.
november 10th, 2010.

this was me at my sickest, most addicted state. this is an echo of the worst schizophrenic episode I ever had.

I was only sixteen years old.

this was not truth. this was NOT enlightenment. this was the worst secret and delusion to ever haunt my soul.
voodoo Jan 2018
I’ve begun to hate the whole β€˜I contain multitudes’ idea.

I hate every breath I have taken since I was twelve, I hate how I’ll never be okay with who I am, and I hate how this concept of containing multitudes means there’s more about myself that I will uncover and hate, again.

I hate how your curtains are chrome yellow, I hate how it spills sunlight on the scattered prints on your bedsheets that I’ve come to hate. I hate how my feet are either too cold outside, or too hot under the blanket, I hate how my neck both desires and dislikes pillows. I hate how I am never comfortable with comfort: I hate how your fingers pressing between my shoulder blades don’t relax me. I hate that I can only love if I hold it up against all that I hate.

I hate how I lie with your arm beneath my head and my mind just above it, thinking of all the things that I hate and how I never hated you. I hate how I write about you, how I hide it from you. I hate how I never said these things to you. I hate how I hate myself but never hesitate to glorify you.

I hate how I say things to make you despise me, how I twist your words to despise you, how I set us on fire and wanted you to save just me.

How delusional of me to want to worship every inch of your skin with my lips. How delusional of me to want to be divine and not lowly, to love and not to ravage.

How delusional of me to love when I can only hate.
Dakota J Dawson Dec 2017
Dreams are black and sullen
Like the black stallion
Pure beauty

Though it lacks simplification
Relying on my obsession
Killing the temptation

Is Our love true?
My love is false
No one cares

Any shining stars of a beautiful moment
Fade into oblivion and darken
Leaving me high and wet

Where is your hand
Mouth
Taste

*** is all that you are to me in this sphere of time
To not talk nor greet at the given moment
Equals talking to an unknowable god

To you, I amount to nothing
Stallion you are to me
Beauty identified

There is not a time frame for us
No goodbye or a hello
Just another sigh
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