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Taylor St Onge Aug 2021
I am soft and mandible:  
          fresh clay,         the inside of an oyster,        the belly of an armadillo.  
          vulnerable.                      tender.  ­                             the anti-sharp.

everything is blurred.  dulled.  hidden
behind a gossamer haze and ambient noise.  
a photo out of focus.            one eye closed and ten feet back.  

dizzy.            so dizzy.            disoriented.  
there is no logic here.             no rules.             no laws.  
and that’s what makes it horrible and incomprehensible.  

the transplant recipient still dies.  the man in perfect health
                                                                ­suddenly has cancer.
the proned patient flipped back to supine for intubation
                                                codes and dies immediately.  

nonsense.  it’s all nonsense.  
it's easier to take a breath and
                                                        compartmentalize.
write your grief, prompt #11: How has this loss made things feel sharp?
Salvador Kent Aug 2021
Screaming
They do not hear this
Because they're too busy
Doing worthless ****
And pretending that they exist

For a moment you think
You ******* Elon Musk this is a simulation
And this is my realisation
Call me Nick Bostrom and my thought
Is Blood sweat and simulated tears
Because

I observe a figure walking down a street
And in my disorientation I stare at them
Unflinchingly and they stare back and laugh
Like they know me so I'm like what the ****
Who was that guy I'm so confused I swear

**** **** kick a brick that forms part of a wall
Ye Olde England see an Olde man screaming
Abandon hope! Sinner Jim Whitney
Call me Charles Mingus you are the Sinner Lady
And I play my saxophone for you

Sign this page and hand yourself to God
And through this holy book this ancient relic
I save you for you are a sinner
You Jim Whitney repent to rejoice in heaven
There you'll find Dante and Milton
Writing free verse poetry with Christ himself
Resurrected and now

Save the Children with Unicef
Or buy the Big Issue
Would you like a Burrito or a coffee
Or take this money which I loan thee
**** that I feel like you owe me
And I'll spit on your grave and tax your family
Call me Milton Friedman welcome to the economy

Or would you rather let it all go and find the Dharma
There's a Pure Land temple only a train journey away
Come I'll take you there find Abhidhamma
I know you're lost in this postmodern age

Sickness disorientation your mind so blurry
This disorientation the unfocused intensity
Feeling like you don't exist and everything is
So horribly sick and

Walking down a street in all your disorientation
And you're half dead half asleep half existent
Wanting a ******* coffee but you have no money
So you settle for an energy drink that tastes like ****

But you need the caffeine so you can't complain
And your miserable face and ridiculous gait
Is the elephant in the room you ******* good for nothing
******* and why are you even here
Pseudo intellectual half wit

Stop reading Camus you miserable ****
Start watching Love island like any normal
******* miserable person that lives
On this sceptered isle to paraphrase
Shakespeare and revel in your heritage

Aren't you proud to be British
No what is worse what is worse
To be British or to be human
Why am I associated with that flag
That flies on the tower of the house of God
That I observe as I squint my eyes

The Sun is hot but I am cold
I'm very cold so I wear a coat
And a passerby says what the ****
And the wall is my glue yes the wall is my glue

**** look they opened the coffee shop
I want a coffee this energy drink
Tastes like ****
So throw it away
Like life and

Laugh at the pathetic little joke
From a pseudo intellectual
Pseudo poetic poet that cannot write
About this ache they feel…

All this disorientation…
None of it interpretable.
And this poem is never-ending
Unless it just ends.
rage.
Carlota S Apr 2020
My heart, a sinking ship

Bereft of balanced beams

Descends deeper towards its doom; Depth

creating elusive dreams


My hope, a shifting plate

Converged with reality

Shifts, shatters, shakes its foundation

A quake leaving heavy debris


My body, a tattered shoe

Weary from the long trek

Desperately pleading for its restoration

Left a disheveled wreck
Mansi Mar 2020
Everything seems gray
Like tasteless
Zero motivation
To move or to do anything

Why do I feel this?
Why so tired and disoriented?
Diksha Prashar Feb 2020
We are on
Voyage of successful
Life
Mixing hard work
And struggles
As spice
Some find shore
Earlier than anticipated
Others in midst
Of catching up
A little disoriented
By hurdles and stumble
Invisible ropes
Circling
The crumbling hope
Of making to shore
leo arden Aug 2019
one and another played a game in the forest

where the dark trunks rose tall

and the creatures were a chorus.

the delicate blue air in the midnight’s gloom

left one disoriented:

are the sounds one’s voice too?

one wondered and wandered, but after some time,

another’s voice and one’s thoughts

intertwined in one’s mind.

one cried and one protested, one just didn’t know;

was one even moving?

for one lost feeling in one’s feet below.

the cold wind blurred one’s sight, and nothing seemed clear

so one closed one’s eyes

overtaken by fear.

one was without feeling, legs to chest, and even one’s face.

now all one wanted

was another’s kind, warm embrace.
embrace one another.
AD Snail Mar 2018
My dear when I tell you,
"I'm a late bloomer."
I need you to know, that I meant to say is,
"I have lost my petals and my stem is bare."

Own ****** hands, The only criminal is I,
I have taken shears and torn ungracefully.

There the petals lay underneath.

A gentle breeze then came by and swept them away,
Never to reach my clutches again.

My dear I made myself bloom far to early,
Letting the petals of myself vanish.
Leaving me astray within my own vessel.
A line of vases
the wind blows against
knocking them over,
but only a few left broken

Some picked back up,
others left with just a scratch
but i'm part of the batch
that shattered.

Built back up,
glued together,
you can't erase the damage done by this weather,
leaving me unwanted forever

Left there all alone
to be knocked over
or thrown
until i've shattered once more
so you just leave me on the floor

because i'm
too far gone,
yes, you made me
too far gone
and now no one will piece me back together.
Feeling numb saying words from the tip of my tongue.
A succinct expression deriving from a passionate exclamation.
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