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Jeremy Betts Mar 2
Here I stand, more knowledge in one hand, a better comprehension in the other
But no third hand for that ever so elusive answer
Now fewer than ever and always less than the day before
Watching compassion wash away with the tears from the eyes of a lover
As I try in desperation to prove a mear possibly, maybe we're better together
Before the search begins and what's wanted is what's found in another
And I'm left to wonder the vastness of forever without my chosen partner
Alone, not wanting to, once again, risk going public with my server
That fear leads me here, to a future where I put all hope in never
And yes, you don't have to tell me, I'm well aware...
...I know that makes this a hopeless endeavor

©2024
Carlo C Gomez Feb 25
Life is war,
my hands are hypnagogic,
so far from refuge.

The purgatory salesman,
an enemy with antlers,
speaks in hostile slogans:
create, destroy, rebuild, repeat.

My friend coma,
blunted and paranoid,
has lost her vital signs.

But Television says differently,
calls this an elegant demise,
you touch the screen
like you're touching God.

The immortal world
I'm hoping to collide with
is beautiful and closed to resistance.

But there are cracks in everything,
the snowglobe army
granular and brittle,
the constant uncertainty
of your universe
becomes a hiding game.

Take me with you
my halation angel,
to migration salvation.

We made our history
into mythology,
a mass of disconnected facts,
the stars may be dead,
yet, we're here
and we've stopped time.

Tonight I'm breaking
through the gates,
tonight I can see around corners,
suddenly, forever makes sense.
Datore Fargo Feb 16
My closet,
at one point,
was filled,
with,
band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live.
My bedroom floor,
it was littered,
with mismatched socks,
skinny jeans,
converse,
some to my knees,
and combat boots,
even though,
granddaddy was in the navy,
and visited Nagasaki.
Now I’m a hippie,
that subconsciously,
does the hair flip,
and people,
well,
they think,
I have a twitch.
Still own converse,
but I just don’t know,
how to let go,
of my past,
to tell the truth.
At least now,
I’m the reason,
to live.
My closet,
is spacious,
and it doesn’t,
have a door.
But it’s still full,
of band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live?
I’m on the run.
Shadow Feb 11
Trying so hard to get over the past
Left me in a hole far too deep
And now I must face the reality
I never wanted to see
Drowned myself in clouds of smoke
And the pain never seemed to leave
But Im finally reaching the point
Where I am returning to being me
Kagey Sage Jan 26
I don’t play my mandolin everyday anymore,
let alone my guitar or tin whistles
I can’t let this die
I listened to 7 year old Japanese math rock
and want just a speck of that
An identity where I can sift right through
all this mediocre destruction all around
No one even has the gall to admit they’re killing
or the decency to even cover it up anymore
They videotape themselves dancing and
murdering kids for lebensraum
then turn around and say “no we’re not”

I’m tired of surface level house maintenance
followed by immobile phone scrolls
I’m looking for that lesson we’ll all learn
after finally going too far
I won’t play the victim or the hero no more
I did my part and now I’m too old
I need deeper art to escape samsara for good
and maybe that’s the best I can do comrades

I’m sick of details grown so scattered and thin
My whole past feels like entrails
smeared across vast desserts
There used to be rainforests here
but now it’s hard to find the pictures

Just when things almost get too competent and nice
they let decadence do its worse
out of fear that the improvements would make goods and services
too cheap not to be free
Socialism’s bad for business owners
so we lay off the workers and overcharge even more
Let the octogenarian billionaires buy up more water and air
to keep the fellas in the favelas gnashing and grim

Bunker complexes, spaceships, missiles coated in spent uranium;
these are all more important than starving children
Why do the poor keep having poor kids?
Still a conundrum
We gave them a chance to compete
some ephemeral time ago and they blew it
What can we do?
We tried to teach a man to fish…
Imagine Jesus Christ just giving folks fish and bread
for nothing in return?
Ander Stone Jan 21
whispers in the wind
of a remembered
tomorrow
that will never
come to pass.

shades of broken glass
trapped in the crimson
soles of tired feet
break apart in
a multitude of
echoing patterns.

a hunger for something
without shape,
without substance,
without the traced outline
of neverending desperation,
howls deep within the throat.

bottled yesterdays
shattered on the marble
of ever-shimmering amnesia
creaking like bones
inside an hourglass on the edge
of an untangling rope.

all that is left is to hope
for a quick bite of the river
that turns all tomorrows
into forgotten yesterday.
Jeremy Betts Jan 16
I don't fear finding myself to high
Between you and I
It'd be a nice change of scenery being stuck in the sky, beyond the naked eye
Watching all my everything only make a single fly by
Easy to find yourself there, barley have to try

I don't fear being six feet under
Grave or bunker
No more having to wonder and ponder my next blunder that's always right around the corner
No more fighting the past and destroying a future
No more recurring failure

I fear the day to day
In a crippling way
I fear the wrong thing I'm most certainly going to say
I fear a time period that's pay to play but the pay can be taken away
And whenever I'm where I want to be, I'm never allowed to stay

©2024
Here's a story of a possible future, reminiscing on the work my
wrist would have done,— my next watch should cost me forty eight.
Two days later hearing my kids complaining about how they
barely ate. But it would cost me less if I had more fame; with
my biggest fear of people saying I'm not the same. Still I guess we'll only know when the times actually change.
Living in a mansion, telling a girl I'd like to live in her hand, just to buy rings to expand it more. Add a couple chandeliers just so she can see herself as an angel under her Lord. But truth be told, I could be on the streets, living in her heart only by corners of it. And she'd hate to ******* pride, cos I know it all tastes of *****.

Owing the credit to my success by every dream that owed a debit.
Thinking of it now, I'd be smiling in a much comfortable home,
knowing it's something I actually own. Telling people I did what I had to do, when my worries were knocking on my door with a lot dues. The uncomfortable conversation you make with your landlord when the rent is due,— but even with fame, society will come knocking to see what more you can bring... it's all nothing new.

I already have silent panic attacks, lying on my bed with open eyes, relying on tomorrow being a bit better. Still being alone in a mansion, waiting for a heart attack, as today's are already hectic, and tomorrow's all carry a lot of pressure. Would I really want to stop working, calling someone I sort of loved late at night when the Wi-Fi is actually working,— to tell them nothing in my life seems to be working.
"Was it all worth," she'd probably ask me. What could I say; I perfected my life but life still doesn't seem to be so perfect. Of how I found fame, but my identity is something I'm out here still searching.

The first to ****, regarding myself in first person,
by forty eight, dying alone without fulfilling his purpose. And your story becomes a lesson to someone in the third person. I guess I wouldn't have bought the watch in the first place; ticking away my life till it all worsens.

...So before I ever find fame, let me at least find my purpose.
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