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I'm no one of note
Just a mediocre bloke
Your run of the mill common folk,
Shiit kickin', suburban cowpoke
Someone not even I would pretend to promote
Dreamscapes often bleak and remote
You probably do what I don't,
Can do what I can't,
Will do what I won't
Sunk my personal rescue boat,
Fleeing the scene,
Trying to free myself from myself with little hope
Got caught up in a well known insecurity mote
The dangerous cesspool where the mindless float
Where I often mope
You might think that's the conclusion, but nope
You'll know when
This story's about to end
At the first mention
Of the proper tension
For a danglin' hangin' rope

When I look up at my ancestors and the struggles of my family tree
I realised I was made from bleeding hands and shattered hope
Pouring their lives from cup to cup, generation to generation
All the things they couldn’t be
I was made by them but also for them
Passing down onto me their tears and  hardships, and all their untold stories
You see, they chose me
To uphold their legacy, unravel their truth
Breath the air and smell the soil of places they could never see
I was made to be everything they weren’t allowed to dream
My path will sooth their pain
I am meant to live loud and carry their sacrifices as my war cry
Three dead pigeons came to mourn
they hung around from dusk till dawn
and knowing I was gravely ill
stayed perched upon my window sill
then when it looked like I might stay
they clicked their beaks and flew away
A poem I dreamt
Nick Moore Apr 6
Burst through from the other side
Jump on a bike
Take a ride

What thoughts inside my head
All this
While asleep in bed

Are dreams a real place?
Or just the space
Behind the face?
selina Apr 3
i didn't know how angry
a scar could be until i saw
one on myself it was something
like a pocket-sized chilean coast
dragged across my knee disrupting  
and hills still dispersing as an acl
torn but unseen like how the many
excerpts of dreams were wiped clean
the anger is always ephemeral but
it always comes back whenever
i want to feel breeze in hair perhaps
i just miss the delaware river scene
and a long ago when my pencils
moved too quickly for my thoughts
yes indeed maybe i just miss loving
the journey not for the end like the
part where i did not know anything yet
still believed that it was all for the better
tore my acl at college last october, and everything feels like it's been downhill since
Power stood, but strength fell
A capacity to fear, but no more burdens to build,
The forlorn of a daughter.
While fault became honey, sweetly puréed upon the flesh I wore,
The drought of one’s character left dry this flesh.
Sticky and shriveled, was my existence.


No conquest could restore, dignity or integrity,
The forlorn of a daughter, lost to the hunger of confectioners.
Isaace Apr 1
I sit here, amidst a darkened hall,
Congregating with the darkened rats,
Sipping upon a darkened drink— blood-drawn.

Now I rub my ******* and feel them swell,
Amidst a rally-call within this darkened hall,
Possessed by a demon’s hypnotic call— his rally-call.

Now I see a child with the fully-developed head of an adult,
Amidst this darkened hall, waiting for a mother-call,
Gesticulating for the pain of a forgotten war.
Little Mary was a dreamer
A very sweet one of course

Though the chains of reality bound her to a myriad of troubles
In her dreams she was free

She was free to dream of a home
A home decorated with a loving husband and successful children

She was free to dream of grandchildren
Little ones sitting close and listening to her tell stories of old

She was free to dream of one day
The day her afflictions will finally go away

She actually had a lot of dreams
A lot she never had the chance to live

Dream on Little Mary
Dream on
Until we meet again dream on
Your dreams may see reality on the other side
So dream on
neth jones Mar 28
the interior     night
he divided a dream into many dreams
worlds opened    diva-ing
and flares   pething out of darkness
seeming obedient  at first
                                 he visited
in truth      they were playful
  but explored his ugly secret details
        and gave no hint of a healing effect

deceived   he was tossed
   exhausted into a new day
                      of occupation and toil
Arlo Disarray Mar 23
this is just
a precursor
to what you will experience
if you’re around me
on a regular basis
i have days
where i am
just up

but then
i have days
where i am down,

and then
i have days
where i’m up,
lost sight,
who am i,
where am i,
what am i even doing here,
what’s the point,
is life even real,
is this a simulation,
do i actually breathe,
am i just unknowingly on the Truman Show,
has anything ever existed,
do i exist right now,
what time is it,
why does my face itch,
what’s wrong with me,
what or who even are you,
where’d you come from,
where have you been all my life?

i’m medicated.

who knows
if i’m being treated
for the right ****?
i’m still
nuttier than
a nutty buddy,
and i’ve been told by close friends
that i’m their
“nutty buddy”
but they really
don’t know
how accurate
that is

i’m just working on music,
while smoking
a lot
of ****,
my usual amount of *****,
and thinking
about the past,
the present,
and the future
while trying
to make sure
i push
the less important things
out of the way
while i sort through my ****

and, by the way….

ég elska þig ❤️

i love you
in icelandic
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