Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
there is no limit
we live in the world of infinite
impossible is not a word
for any man
invisible at the heart
of a perfect plan
rock the chair of a child
and let them go wild
this world is meant
to be in chaos
and truth be told,
we are already in lost.

helplessly drowning in a rapid tide
let's indulge in this eternal wild ride.
Lorrin Feb 12
What’s the point
What’s the ******* point in any of this
What we do what we say
No one gives a ****
Everything is meaningless
Everyone will leave
What’s the point of trying
When all we do is grieve

This endless ******* circle
That eats away my brain
I hate the way I’m feeling
My soul is steeped in pain

But there’s not a way to fix it
It’s just round and round again
I wish that I could do it
I wish that I was brave
I’d pull the ******* trigger
I’d slice the sharpest blade

But here I sit, a coward
Lonely and aware
That nothing really matters
And no one really cares
Brian Ong Aug 2018
Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine?
I fear that you don’t see me
collecting dust in the dim corner of your room.
And while you stand and stare,
completely absorbed by your own despair,
I remain
ready to serve you  
and your meaningless life.
I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind
of the false reality exemplified by your kind.


We are similar though, you and I.
Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating.
Honestly, we’re mere specks of life,
surrendering to realities constructed by our minds.
Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures
are one and the same as the ******* that I collect?
Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable.
Its laughable how ignorant you are;
consumed by your own subliminal thoughts,
leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.


Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head?
Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure.
Armed with benevolent promises
that ultimately leave you for dead.
Can’t you see that what you crave
will inevitably **** you down to your grave?
Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions
that disguise its true nature--garbage.
Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool.
Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?
done for class
girl gonzo Feb 9
can you hold it in your palm? I can't stop talking about hands.
I don't remember the last time any other body part was that important but the one that slept next to you out of necessity instead of loneliness.
There's a problem, like a rock skipping into my neighbor's pool but it's not my neighborhood and none of the houses remind me of home. A solitary moment shrinking in shrubs when you know that the cars are passing by and you have no idea what direction anyone's going. Where's the destination and will they get there like you?
Muddy lawns and soaking sidewalks is everywhere you've ever been but you don't talk much about that anymore. Some kind of selective mutism that gripped you when you were too young to make decisions, just a bad joke played well on yourself. Drifting from window to window to see if my fingerprints stay there, if the future will break down the door and trip me with shoelaces that were worn by me or my best friend or by nobody and I think I'll understand then the most significant rule, you can't be in two places at once.
Lorrin Feb 8
When I was a child
I was taught we are born with a god-shaped hole in our hearts
So I tried
To fill that hole with all the god I possibly could
But still I was empty
Alone
Hollow.
So I built a mask
And covered the hole
Because what else could a “good Christian girl” do?
I desperately hid my emptiness
until you.
You saw my mask for what it was:
A lie to hide my misery.
You saw the toxic lie long before me
And you opened my eyes to the truth.
You were the spark
That burned my mask away.

And I am finally free

The void exists in all of us
And we all search to fill it
We try gods of every form and color and character, and once we realize gods are worthless we try:
money,
power,
drugs,
alcohol,

love?

What fills the void we all hold?
What? When we are all just lonely animals existing
and longing for more.
I want to erase myself,
Like the winter erases itself
to become spring.
.
I want to erase myself,
Like autumn leaves erases themselves
to let the new leaves grow.
.
I want to erase myself,
Like dew erases itself
to become cloud.
.
I want to erase myself,
Like the cloud erases itself
to let the blue sky smile at the earth.  
.
I want to erase myself,
Because that is how the universe works;
Erasing an existence
to create a new and better one.

-KANYA PUSPOKUSUMO, 2019-
Icheon, South Korea
Bukowski, Cash and Dylan
Whiskey, twisted cigarettes and Thai take away.
How much can fit inside a room?
Boxes, armchairs, carpets and glasses.
I count them on my fingers, weight them, bump into them.
All based in the laws of physics, - space and volume.

The sheets on which you laid upon.
The mirrors that showed you forms and figures
-forms that meant to replace emotional loss.

The lips of glasses you used to bite.
-body movements as the expression of an inner void.
Repeated patterns of disorders - food for my poetry.
The plumes of countless cigarettes,
that offered the necessary filling for my insides.

Background noise that comes from the TV
Content: Chlamydia and young people in excitement
-reality show for cowards.
Your manhood spread all over like an octopus
expanding his 8 legs.
Open legs, so that your testosterone can take some air.

A packet of cigarettes, a mobile phone, lighter and a cotton swab.
All in line: from the largest to the smallest object.
Absolute symmetry of declining placement.

I walk ***** to the shower,
Winking to your manhood
While you remain
looking at me with your legs wide open.

I pass through you like a ghost
ghosts as you are.
Just like if I never existed
-just like you never existed too.
Omair Shafiq Jan 25
Pride be killed
Its blood be spilled
I made be free
I let to die!

It captures me
It strengthens me
It made me so
It makes me cry

I want it not
I want it lost
But it is me
Who can’t deny

That it was me
Who made it be
That it was so
To make me lie

It seals me in
It is a demon
My greatest worth
My greatest lie

Come **** it please
Come, let me live
O great desire
Come let me fly

So great regret
Yet to greater depth
I want to live
Yet want to die

The day I slay
This darkness great
I will not live
And will not die

For to **** ones pride
You stab your heart
With ones very hand

So the soul can fly!
Jessica Jan 24
This cosmic canister carries the world’s disarray-
Our destinations different, our feelings the same.
Though we have regular meetings we remain strangers;
Heads down, uncomfortable.
A pattern forms in our lives which none exits, our sacred routine which if changed is wrong.
Empathetic eyes glazed with weariness.
At each departure, a new inhalation of caffeine and smoke,
A new wave of bodies,
A new mass.
We all contribute to the mass, but the mass never goes,
Only waxes and wanes with the seasons.
We travel as one, carried by destinations, riddled with enigmas.
The hour reaches 6:00 and the mass bulges; the kettle is at its boiling point.
We move as agitated atoms riling against one another.
The world’s day draws to a close, as our microenvironment wakes.

A man exhales stale disappointment- no promotion due.
The coarse skin of his fingers caresses
The constant happiness in his life;
Helping him live, hastening his death.
Unable to inhale satisfaction, his suit clad leg
Writhes underneath the table,
Distracting him, but alerting others of the craving.
Although his tie is straight and his briefcase orderly,
A lose thread and weary eyes give him away-
He’s tired; tired of life, tired of the necessary endless routine
Which holds him and his livelihood captive.
It weakens and sustains him simultaneously.
His secrets define him.

A girl sighs, her cheeks wet,
Tears heavy with hurt.
A bruise has settled itself on her forearm;
A warning for the next time she comes home late.
Her skin has become a canvas and everyday more paint is added.
Her permanent ink hides the painful marks
Yet the latter seems to leave the most lasting impression.
Her face is scarcely discernible;
Metal studs line the place where her smile should be-
They are so many that her humanity becomes robotic.
Her secrets define her.

The tube we sit in holds heavy hearts, new smiles,
Old friends.
The mass becomes one as each day our routine returns,
Unchanged.
We get to know our fellow travellers
Without really getting to know them at all.
Their influence on our existence seems insignificant,
Yet they contribute to the steadfast mass that so grips our little lives,
Whilst we hold on to sanity by a single thread.
Our secrets define us.
Hadiy Syakir Jan 20
I do not want to live
in fear anymore
I do not want to live
without desire anymore
I want to move to
a city where I know nobody
where I will have
a movie marathon alone
where I will have
a dinner at my own convenient
where I will have
the entire space to my own
where I will talk
to myself in front of the mirror
where I will suffer
alone from my crooked back
I am pretty sure it ia
more meaningful than
to be greeted by
thoughtful strangers
to be harrassed by
vengeful neighbours.

sometimes, knowing that
you are loved from afar
will make you want to fish
for the sun from the star.
Next page