AKM Sep 2017

The teacher's busy teaching,
Whereas my mind is full.
Oh my, I've got millions of ideas,
Can't control a pencil's pull...

Because I ain’t taking notes and my sheet’s empty
And to doodle, many ideas tempt me.
Ideas? I have plenty
But minutes, Not many.
  
I have loads of space but not a pencil case,
Umm… that, I can borrow from a mate.
I’ll try drawing a party although I have no social trait.
Or probably myself reading my favorite comic Big Nate.

How about me eating spaghetti?
As fall from the heavens confetti.
My mind drifts off,
As all I can think about is Ferrari spin-offs.

Wait… what? Was that the bell?
God save me, I have no excuse to tell!

About my real life experience. And yours too.
Poetic T Jul 2017

The mind is a misuse of reflections,
we gaze upon the maddening of our
life and make order from a doddle
of randomness.

"A tree barks, still no one hears it?

We have the wisdom of moments,
but are we still infants in the scheme
of our growth. Are we still crawling,
but the illusion of us standing gently wilts.

"Freedom is a leash, getting tighter everyday,

Sleep is the illusion of time, for we wake
reliving the same day, but envision it as new.
Time is non-existent, were just a tape replaying
different moments till its overplayed then just ceases.

Miss Clofullia Jun 2017

Last night I dreamt that Google
was celebrating me
through one of its doodles.

It was the simplest of them all,
the most ordinary and vanilla -
common as a rock, low-pitched with a cherry on top.

You clicked on it and it didn't have any answers.
It showed nothing.

No sound was added,
no funky animations,
no gamification.

Corny and simple.

I think they did a pretty good job in celebrating me.

Moonshine Noire Jun 2017

amber bourbon-coloured

demonic eyes frigid

grapes hitched

in juniper kisses

lemon moans

nosing out

perpertually queezy

rhinestone stars twinkling up

Virgo whites

xenial years zooming

One more sunset;
what does it matter?
There n' gone,
unborn reborn.
Over and over.
Without a lick of sense,
or the luck of a four leaf clover.

K Balachandran Apr 2017

lightening doodles
night and city lights dissolve,
more or less than than real?

V Anne Apr 2017

How many times
Can I draw on my arms
With sharpie
To prevent me
From hurting myself?

I've found new ways
To induce pain.

I smoke.
I drink too much.
I search for love in others
Who want nothing to do with me.

These black lines
Along my forearms
Do not shield me from pain
Like I wished they would.

They only mask
My fear.

A twist of a knot,
inside your skull.
a thought, a feeling.
Not to speak.
Such is the spirit of
the will of the weak.

Dream of an act,
or piston strong words.
Always fertile, never born.
Your struggle is yearning.
Doubt has a habit of
keeping you turning.

In a tryst of not,
still-born sapling.
A Restless dance.
In unending motion,
any action is studied Askance.

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