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The Haunting Jan 14
The sick
that feeds
on candle's
wick,
its a horror
of a film
we created.
We can
burn
and
exorcise,
this horror,
still relates.........
and lifts up
of the corn fields,
late night date
before the rush......
of all the blood
rusticates......
The final girl
will get away.
Jeremy Betts Jan 1
It's twelve something in the morning
A vague block of time past
The empty celebration
I meander outside
Hopelessly alone,
Just me and a cigarette
And when it burns out,
No longer lit
I'll then yell and scream
Louder than I can
Untill my voice gives up on me too
Finally leaving me
And I can no longer
Even call upon a whisper
As I make the biggest decision of my life...
...at least up to this point...
To go solo for what's left of this venture
Where I hope to discover
Me
The entity
That I've heard called Jeremy

©2025
Vallery Dec 2024
Together we stand around the fire,
the warmth from the flames fuels my anger...

and that's okay,
it's cathartic.

I feed the flames to watch them grow and rise high above me.
I can feel the warmth devour my skin...

and it's okay,
it's cathartic.

and as the fire flickers and wanders,
I begin to wonder...

if all these memories really must go?
maybe I'll set them ablaze until only ash remains...

but how would He feel?

but I begin to wonder as the fire flickers and wanders...

if all this love really must go...
maybe I'll let my shattered heart melt...

but how would He feel?

and as the fire flickers and wanders,
I begin to wonder how this empty and adverse lover must burn...

as the flames flicker and glow,
inviting and enticing...

He would say no...

so into the fire I go.

as I feel the warmth on my skin,
I can begin to smile...

as I burn alone, leaving my memories and my heart break behind...

the flames begin to die, and my life is reduced to ashes...

it is cathartic.

but not for Him.
who is He?
Jeremy Betts Sep 2024
I know one day
The other foot's gonna drop
And I'll be underneath it
In my final resting spot
Do my deeds, both good and bad
Stick with me through the rot?
Will I be chained to the scene
Or get too haunt a plot?
Will I recognize the deity
Deciding if I'm good enough or not
I wonder what happens
To every thought I've thought

©2024
There are no words left,
to matter a change
that's worth any positive
cause and effect
Unless action can be taken
to calming to nurture a yearning
condition.
My first lover king ever
from mine youth now shared.

A precious dream breathes
and lives at last if
only in poem form, in song
and in memory chip.

In imaginary form
Bittersweet a fire burning.
Endless true loving of the woman
who loves you most
in this whole world wide.
Mind to mind,
and as the music played
To summon my story.

Any hope left
by the edge of this this cliff,
is but a final blow.
My misfortune.

Be your happiness my own
Her joy, my joy.
~~~~~~~
By: Mr. And Mrs Andrews
(Honors to this famous English
vast land famed painting-portrait
of something missing on Mrs lap,
  One of many past karmic lives.
Being chosen for changing Earth
I finally understood my peril
and then other's dilemmas
A great fortune against,
and for me stolen .
Written with Karijinbba.
https://youtu.be/-HK_4xvbrEk?feature=shared
Jeremy Betts Jan 2024
Carrying wounds that will not heal
A pain I will be forced to always feel
Stitched up, scabbed over
The new flesh is much paler
Sealed but not seamless
A basic healing process
That's what they tell me
Looks like a ground up mess, what does everyone else see?
The sensation is still so prominent
As if I'm back in that bathtub reliving it
The visual as clear as the day
Terrified but can't pull my gaze away
I only opened a small crease
Honed in on the crimson flow of my life embracing it's release
Two fresh exits located to my left and my right
Allowing it to forge a new path to the drain and out of sight
My past, present and future colliding
Pooling faster than it can move through the plumbing
Took forever to register my final decision
Turned out it wasn't final at all, just another negative mark on my person
No relief felt, only overwhelming regret
A permanent reminder
But how could I ever forget

©2024
Ken Pepiton May 2023
Rough? Tough. No ghucking way,
easy does it, yet today,
letters forming sounds
ssssseems less clicky, fewer
hard g and crisp t endings
subltle inertial force,
psuedo sublimnity
sorted in fact, categorized

relatively as among those named
things that seem so simple,

once the inner being lets go.
In fluid dynamical solid state real

time, lazing in the sun, rolling on in ever after now.
Sensitive to the tug, take psuedo pen and write the vision, make it work,
so what forms functions, outside the course of corrective enculturation.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2023
Synchronic simple step
be
yonder, yo, go, no
go, si, go
on and on and on
… so yust so
yust to be we once went

we split, full moiety,
each
ac-
act-
act-ion -jello-timed- lobes
blobs plasmoieted mind
parabolic, by yah,
Arching fly call it, I got it,
call his name, yah who done
did done GOT
caught
the funny parts. Read the books.
Now. At this point, cognitive native
child formed in my mortal moment
per-ifery-wasery rules
secret se- per seance
sacred made knowledge,
state of knowing entered, left

ab-rupturously, grief, lief
left easy, re lief, sigh
good
grief. We were all
we-    are Charlie Brown, forever

interrupted, as if once, however long ago,
we knew we were one thing,
then we knew we were merely

words between things you knew
and did not do.
and you know you imagined this is that.
The novel experience, this side.
Post-done and paid off.
Precautionary. Click.
Why not,
who is asking, hangs, as pregnant pause
über Þe olde excessive easing hook,

who are we, and what are we doing,
we who were to survive receiving
asked knowledge, the easy-does-it tree,
shows us the easy way, this way dis-eased.

The lie and the profundus is merely piercing.
Flatten the spikes, be atop the bed of nails.
Wait. Funda-mental, bottom mind, first
id-ego otherwise mind,
frame a being, be a
one, and not the other,
here, there, there, it's okeh, eh, ok?

E-see easing easy living, being been done,
doing all that old trees do, after all,
we wait to feel the fire beetles,
land and lay their eggs among our ash,
and swollen-cracked nuts,
fire calls them into heat, in season.
Such things we learned
from the ant people who saved us in reeds,
thatching from roofs floating, maybe,
really, lifeboats, but
think a tsunami through,
rush
incursive and excursive.
Lay down a layer of plausibility, evoke applause
clap each hand once.

Curtain.
completion, ten to go and history is made in our pages in life's book of accounted for idle words; we read a proper Proust load, right proudly.
Andrew Rueter Jun 2022
Do I want to see the forest through the trees
if that also means the hornets in between?
There's a comfort trail of nothingness
leading beyond the sun setting west
towards a dark abyss looming
my friends try to soothe me
by saying it'll be like before I was born
but at that point my life ****** even more
so the vastness of the universe
reminds me that my bullet hearse
isn't blessed or cursed
it'll just disperse
like the tears on the face of my clock
coming from the face I show not
a shocked ant on a spinning rock
with vertigo fearing it'll fall off
knowing once the spinning stops
there's a darkness block
with nothing to be bought
or sold
not even gold
can reverse getting old
so I don't want to see the forest
and I'll hide behind the trees
getting lower on my knees
praying God help me please
because I fear that final release.
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