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Vi Aug 7
Doubtful of Self, of Realness

Fortified by others' knowing, or preferably- admiration

Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes

Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, Likes, thumbs up

Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead

Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse

Identity is a social construct

Awareness is not
Mikko Mar 2021
The hubris of Man, to think we matter,
that our acts or life have any worth
I proclaim it rotten like so much mirth
The poor get poorer, the rats grow fatter
so spread not your lies, for I know better
The Void left our values a still-birth
We're cells further growing this cancer's girth
climbing higher on a failing ladder

Thus let us burn, we don't deserve a knife
let roam the terrors I dream of nightly,
open Pandora's box now, loosen its clasp
Let the End come now, there's no after-life
it'd change nothing, most just stare on blankly
And talk not of Love, it's out of my grasp
Spat this out onto my phone's memo on the bus about a year ago. Haven't written a full new sonnet in 15 months. Fear of blank paper or some ****.
RA DeVito Sep 2018
In restful sleep I've wandered to a land far and beyond,
Where banes, which, present, ******* me, have left me - far and gone.
Where havoc and the woes of life drift off to nullity,
And the breaths I took, for once, for once, came in tranquility.

For, gone were my anxieties, and absent were all tragedies,
Rubs of which make living a great bane on my reality.
                                                        ­...
But, by morn's time, the waking from the dream blighted the peace I'd found.
Worries and pernicious troubles, soon flocked back: a pack of snarling hounds.
(From their mouths did drip my dreams, which had been tattered at the seams;
Left in a state of disrepair, of which did cause me to despair -
For nothing else I did much care, but had much longing for those dreams
Which were now gone, ripped at the seams)
                                                       ...
Alack! what is this life to those who've cast their eyes on better things which lay,
Beyond the fringe of this existence, a land which living keeps at bay?

'Tis but a walk of sullen gloom, of which feels much like hellish doom
Though trying, never to break through, until you're sleeping in your tomb,
Where all the learning, of the wise, are shut into your pallid eyes,

Where all the learning, of the wise, are locked behind your pallid eyes.
Inspired by the poem "A Dream," by Edgar Allan Poe
Writ August 11, 2018
SoZaka Aug 2018
who could sleep on a night like this?
how could you not stay awake?
whilst I wander amidst these wildfires
you started by mistake
anger rage discontent
Laura Jul 2018
Three syllables should roll easy,
yet sear acidic the tongue,
refusing formation
of empty expression.

The sun shines no brighter
than the struggling bedside light,
and rivers flow no fresher
than saliva leaked in sleep.

The malodour of rank roses
drifts from every kitchen,
where flies **** on dishes
of all the dinners not savoured.

Inside we search for desire; in drains,
under beds, between stale sheets. 
The arid well resists fornication
as we ***** for absent frisson,

the floral miasma lingering,
as if to scoff.
JonahAlonso Jun 2018
may these words ignite shame in your throat
so you can feel the red hot,
of rage and disillusionment

may these words,
welt your skin,
like apathetic whipping
and bruise your pride
with uncontrollable whimpers

may these words flay and pierce your skin,
like unforgiving shrapnel,
staining your lovely supple skin,
with the most beautiful crimson dye

and feel the loss,
of faith,
of purpose,
of love

may these words set fire to your soul
and feel the agony I know so well,
because lord knows,
you never had mercy on me
Hell is something you carry with you
eryssi Jun 2018
I've forgotten what it felt like being with you.
Who I was when I was with you.
The women I flirted with loving through your eyes.
Mark Armstrong Apr 2018
Rapt by prognosis, sterile elocution
Acute halitosis, banal delusion
Digital notice of distant retribution
Thrombosis will move you before revolution

Brash adolescent right-side part,
Strand obsolescence, abstract art
Pinstripe filaments, two turned backs
Bowed in benevolence, borrowing slack

Hieroglyphic ruminations,
Plastered protestations.
Muscle memory incantations,
Aquifuge of patience.

Future shock, feminists ride-centaurs
Skin-tan hedonists reside-indoors
Tin-can telephone spinal chord,
Sings-an injured semitone final word

40 years since you were a punk
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