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The Vault Sep 2019
Smoke into my lungs
Deep and painful
But breath it out as if nothing
Death a gift
Given from the smoke
But here I go
Straight into my addiction.
Colm Sep 2019
Leaves learn first to fly
Once the test of death behind
Is last in their sight
I find it ironic that they only get the freedom to fall when they stop growing. Interesting. And if you're reading this, I hope that this colored your day in a positive way. *wave*
Julian Delia Sep 2019
Black Friday sales and Christmas deals;
Hot on the next bargain’s trail,
Itching to fill the void the heart feels.
Transactions and agreements,
Trappings, false achievements.
Welcome to the era of the shopping mall;
This is where your dreams hop off to die,
This is their final port of call.

Everything and everyone is a commodity;
Barcoded, plastic-wrapped merchandise,
Categorisation for you and your progeny.
If money doesn’t germinate from its seed,
If it does not clothe and feed,
Then it is not something we need.

We are a philistine’s *******.
We strive to achieve the American scheme;
Delusional and overworked, about to scream,
Believing all of us can be billionaires forever,
As the planet grows hungry and lean.

Or, believing some deserve yachts and limousines,
That some should starve,
Whilst others gorge themselves on fine cuisines.
Believing that society should be divided in layers,
Assuaging our guilt with thoughts and prayers,
When instead, we could have just refrained from leaving others behind.

When everything becomes a commodity,
Art for the sake of making it becomes an oddity.
Poets retire their pens,
And painters put down their brushes -
Apathy and despair fog the lands,
Like irradiated wind corrupting everything it touches.

Singers go quiet, actors go numb;
Musicians will riot, orators will be struck dumb.
When our own turn on us, tell us to get “a real job”,
When “job creators” are done calling us “lazy slobs”,
None of us will be around to point out the irony.

We will go extinct, a dying breed, finally gone;
Life will be succinct, the greedy will have won.
Slay your kings and queens, or remain a pawn.
Tell me I'm wrong.
Andrea Armstrong Sep 2019
The feeling of loneliness is slowly crawling back up my spine,
to my brain, down to my heart,
about my legs, on down to my toes and
back around again. A viscous cycle.
Cruel?
I think not!
Over, never.
Round & round I go, till it gets tired.



Or I eventually go numb.
Gone for to long, away to far. Oh, how I missed you.
M Sep 2019
Six days of drinking,
partial insanity,
I drink ketamine,
and I slip from reality.

My eyes feel like they have sand in them,
my ears, mouth, nose, too.
oh ****...
they do.

Why am I paralysed?
Why can't I move?
I've been rolled up in plastic...
what the **** did I do?

On a beach in Cambodia,
thrown under a stage,
after I fell in a K-hole,
and emerged the next day.

The pain is too much,
I pass out willingly.
Wake up and I'm drowning...
Water is killing me.

I cling to the ladder,
my strength starts to wane.
I try to scream help me,
Then blackout again.

I wake up in a rowboat,
cooked by the sun.
Skin crimson and blistered,
oh, what have I done?

My ankle is broken,
no wallet no phone,
I beg for a ride,
please just take me home.

The kind stranger helps me,
drops me at my hotel.
I swallow five ******
and escape from this hell.
Strung Sep 2019
The deep-set abhorrence
Of standing alone—
Where is it from?
I stand on dead grass
Staring dead eyes in the face in the glass reflecting off my screen.
I look mean, dead angry eyes and my brows too dark—
I look mean;
mean and alone.
On dead grass in dumb boots
Waiting for too many factors
To change
Before telling myself
To move on.
kain Sep 2019
Untying my shoes
Is a ritual
Where I bake my cement
And stick my hand in it
Maybe someday
A detective will come
To investigate my death
And find my fingerprints
Trace my blood back
To the bedroom where I sit
Listening to indie music
From my own lungs
Twisted in the sheets
Hanging from the ceiling
Like an athletic
****** angel
And mayhap
If I'm lucky
My body will end up
In some museum
Where lavendar doesn't
Know how to burn
I can read me to sleep
And I'll have witches
In my dreams
They can cast hexes on me
So pedestriannly
I will swing
Like a demon
From your sewing machine
I'll sing at the screening
Like a rogue banshee
When they lay me down
For my eternal sleep
I'll put my fingers up
Just the two
In a farewell salute
Before I'm nailed in
To meet all my new friends
They might eat my eyes
But they're still better than you
I don't know what the everloving **** this is other than a massive mood.
The Vault Sep 2019
Breath in and out
Just a little sore
Neck, back, knees
Thighs, arms, shoulders
Some on purpose
Others from age
I wasn't like this before
But I have gotten better from a year ago.
You struggle
You survive
Breathing air
Until your heart works itself to death
And you die as well
Francie Lynch Sep 2019
Over the decades,
We've worked it out.
No need for a Power of anyone.
If I go blind,
You'll be my sight.
And so on.
I will supply
What you lack;
And you promised,
Should I *****,
To leave me on my back.
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