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I live life to die?
Oh how I'm dying to live!
What does this all Mean?
What is my goal here? why do I have a goal? Anyone else searching for answers?
I am not a person like tomorrow.
A walking ghost,
I still live alongside blissful degeneracy.
They stole ten years from me,
Ten years of my ecstatic individualism.
A decade spent crying into the hard, wooden floor.
And the fog that clouds my peripheral vision,
Obstructs my future as well, clutching the flask.
But that’s alright.
I will not get my decade back,
Nor my stability, that never lingered,
But I will make a list.
What I missed while I was absent.
Most things start with a list.
Why can’t I?
KyleB Apr 11
The limp body laid on the floor
Fairy lights outlined the cool form

To move
The weight too heavy
The whole world

the fairy lights are burning

Body and light
Will never touch
And it stings
It already burns
But it cannot warm the body

Different colours
Different brightness
Various behaviour


they will all cease
When time comes

The scene is romantic - the consequence is not
The bright success, expectations
The failure is in the middle

Nobody talks about its darkness
Lights are the hot topic.

cleobug Apr 8
never quite sure of who or where i am
this head's all over the place
wishing it all could be so easy
to look back at this face

see the real me through these eyes
not be fooled by this flesh disguise
there's a familiarity to the confusion

voices echoing inside me
they want to share time
invited them in, it’s a party
can't distance ourselves in the same body
Stewie Apr 7
Can I ever make a decision?
The answer dances on my tongue
Behind my teeth.
Pursed lips and blank eyes.
To dissociate with reality is surely bliss.
I know who I am in my own head.
Out there is a population of mindless sheep.
Tell me it’s time to wake up.
I hear your whisper in my ear.
But if only a dream
pandemoniac Apr 4
silent poet thinking words,
never i must write
lucid wretched loving words
all bark and half the bite

silent poet thinking thoughts
the ink refused to make
mind and pen are separate
an unyeilding opaque

if i tell the tale to you
of love and praise and good
you'd laugh and laugh and laugh some more
naive misunderstood

my mind a chasm of infinite good
the world dichotomous strange
the vines do seize me gently
to a velvet padded cage

my head is a bed of roses
the thorns pierce me not
i am safe and free and happy
delusional, deep in thought

**** me softly
make me smile
your intoxicating
rapt exile

silent poet thinking thoughts
writes symphonies in his head
the writer and the audience
will dance until they're dead

silent poet thinking words
is struck by stockholm syndrome
perfect captor perfect world
illusion is his home
why am i not a good story-teller if all i do is daydream?
Io Mar 23
a blur that breathes, intensifying and abating
made of ramblers, all wound up in cloth
things that move and things that do not
I block them out
I see them not

molecules entwined in a vigorous waltz
weaving great tapestries
of grey and grey and sometimes white

a graceful procession
of bellies filled with tears
sheets of cold, ice grey
falling as spindles, cold rain
to come again
and returning
and again

warmth enveloping, folding and filling
the spaces between my skin
the sun shining through the gaps
where old concrete ghosts collapsed

I find myself in someplace else
a young forest paved with a legacy of sand and gravel
and anceint crushed stones

and so I look about and notice
without the shadows cast
from towers wrought of iron
that I am left alone in a city filled with nothing
but a bird's solemn chorus
دema flutter Mar 23
I can't seem to
how it felt
to spend
243 endless
days with you,

I guess that's
the best example (metaphor)
of dissociation
during trauma.
For all the effort that goes into them.
Dreams and games fail to replicate reality.
I've been able to let myself become immersed,
Totally enveloped in artificial worlds,
But a simple mistake can be a thread,
That undoes the entire tapestry.
I'm forced from the illusion,
Back into reality.
But lately some things don't make sense,
And real has never felt more fake.
I can't help myself from wondering,
Is there something else waiting if I pull this thread?
12 lines, 293 days left.
cleobug Mar 9
people ask me how i’m doing and i say ‘okay’
nobody questions it; cuz that’s what they all say
only time my words are questioned is when i speak my mind
don’t wanna hear reality, so put me back in line
i wish the whole wide world could know just how i feel
this life of fear and lies simply has no appeal
the voices in my head speak more truth than you
i’m getting tired of always confusing the two
my mind is a haunted house; there’s more to me than meets the eye
body full of so many secrets despite my size

if given the choice, maybe i wouldn’t choose this one to possess
occupying a vessel this anxious just leads to more stress
‘friend in high places’ but the place is your head [in the clouds]
smoking and drinking to quiet us; but trust me you can’t drown us out
there’s more work to be done and words to be said
most talk internally but that don’t mean we’re not friends

something to be said about an openminded guy
with so much personality they started to compile
a collective consciousness sprouting within
took years too long to finally let us in
but here we are, now you know and you listen
at names mentioned, your heart now quickens
beats as one, as we are together
a single unit of several, here for each other
confusing to all but one another
you find yourselves in us
a conversation amongst ourselves
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