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A A Feb 2018
Tell me,
How many sips does it take,
How many puffs does it take,
How many pills does it take,
How many sniffs does it take,
How many needles does it take,
To feel the way I do?
Dustin Dean Feb 2018
Cracks in the walls
Understand it all
Beneath saturated shrubs
I found what was once lost

An experience bequeathed
By the highest mercenaries
So come with me
And let’s pretend

Let's sink to high places
While no one is watching
Eppie Feb 2018
Coffee is bitter like
stomach acid burns
when bile rises up
from god's laughing throat.

He who woke up the sleepers.
Those who dream in paradise.
Dreaming with unseeing eyes,
serene smiles, bleeding, breathing,
competing for conscious time.

Awake to this stinging feeling, like
teething, skin peeling, ears ringing;
no sound, no silence, ambient fuzz.

Let me live in a dream.
Let my thoughts blur into
one.
a daydreamer Jan 2018
I want to escape-
and dream with the stars.
wrap my naked soul
with the warm night sky.
redberries Dec 2017
Why can’t we just run away?
Far from this
Anywhere could be home.

They say make a life out of this.
We chose life outside of this

Still it is ours
Not a dream
But the dream
NRIKO Dec 2017
(Alt title: Colors That Will Mean Nothing)

I am a Fauve
My love of colors
exist not in reality; a fraud
but in a recital
of never-ending silence

Home and school,
the grays of the abusive enigma,
Outside under rule,
the blacks of the abusive enigma,
but the river- Oh, the river-

Blue is not its only love,
a reflection of the human emotions,
place of a seeking Fauve,
And in those waves- a peaclful notion,
a boy with eyes closed.

Escaping, escaping,
reaching the bottom,
a living manifesto,
one that speaks from
how blue the skin has gone,
then purple,
and finally,
declining from the
mindset of a Fauve,
the boy has become
colorless.
And in this case,
lifeless.

- enriko eozyoh
Elysia Veildorn Oct 2017
We’ve forgotten how to heal.
Across the centuries of humanity, our emotional alchemy has been forgotten.
So now—we medicate—pouring pills into our hand so fast that they overflow like…
Niagara.
So now— we stare down the barrel of our third Grey Goose. Its bullets lighting up our bloodstream like…
Fireworks.
And now—we wander the streets and find solace in dark alleys at all hours of the night searching for something to make us…
Numb.
And now— we grab our rusted blade from our dusty nightstand drawer and…
Cut.
When injured, our body fights to heal the wounded cells—and sometimes the wounds were so deep they leave a scar. But they are, nonetheless, closed up.
If our body can heal—our minds can as well.
Somewhere along the way we have lost this very special and redeeming magic.
And without it, the human identity is beginning to corrode.
Tell me this isn't true.
Ben Oct 2017
I think I'll lie underwater
for a few years.
Wake me
when the world is
no longer a prison.

I want to lie among the stars
for as long as they will have me
and watch the greatest battles
and sleep
alone
for eternity.

"Escape this point, this path, this plane
and fly to the land of Goddownly Nosewear.
Lie above all existence,
bend reality to your will,
my child",
            ʃe said,
"You are too great for this world."

I think I'll take a bath
and lie underwater for a few minutes.
Wake me
when the kettle has boiled.
Though it was not a time of religious musing,
it was an escape from the spirit bruising
of the telescreens and jingles,
the buzz of invisible,
the noise of the motorways.

We could natter in the pub,
on a Pilgrimage, of sorts;
to sort, to find a beginning.
Or at least to open a book up
somewhere near the start.
Written July 2014
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