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Aaron LaLux Sep 2021
State Of Affairs

Pandemic still isn’t over,
starting to think it might never end,
searching for a 4 leaf clover,
so I can get some better luck or at least pretend,

but I can’t complain my life is great,
I’ve got everything I ever wanted,
bought it all without getting the cops involved,
got it so good I don’t even need to flaunt it,

as honest as a lost comet can be in all this,
I thought,
we’d finally be free but I guess it’s a process,

it’s 2021,
Year Of The Machines,
seems we're finally one They finally won,
& we didn’t even put up a fight or flee,

Covid gets headlines,
while unnoticed goes cancer & heart disease,
which I could explain it better,
but I guess I’ll leave that to the machines,

every call & text monitored,
every movement tracked,
how many more shots before we’re all shot,
how long until we get our freedom back,

spending more time online than with real friends,
touching our phones more than we touch others,
no one even sees each other’s friendly faces anymore,
can’t even find a friend out there let alone a lover,

as the satellites hover,
AI is in orbit but we just ignore it,
& I know we’re in a game for our humanity,
but I don’t even know what the score is,

pandemic still isn’t over,
starting to think it might never end,
searching for a 4 leaf clover,
so I can get some better luck or at least pretend…

A Lux
Aug 27th, 2021

Ben Heart Mar 2021
An ill attempt to hide
The stars are worthless
When they're kept from sight
Like a phoenix
In a birdbath

The seductive skylines
Another ripple in the pond
Lost in their own lives
Am I insane to believe
The gigabyte afterlife

The conversational kindle
Nurtured or Nuisance
Shall we stay estranged
Not entangled
In some universal umbilical

The neon fever dream
Cacophony of screaming screens
Drawn to the dystopian
Premonitions from the past
The Future is so Victorian
Gray Dawson Nov 2020
Pigment caked under my nails.
Tasting the metallic remnants of a lost childhood.
The reality is hidden in visions and supposed dreams.
Fed to me, was the comforting hugs of mother and soothing lies.
Grew up in the age of paid horror.

A new appendage is cheaper than keeping the original.
Marked by the price of my body.
Each fall, subtracting, each workout, adding.
Beauty is a curse nowadays.
Each beautiful child is raised and sold for millions.
Each ugly child prays to be one of the lucky to receive the new parts.

Greedy families hope for attractive offspring,
to disassemble for a new future.
A pair of brilliant green eyes can change your luck.
Having blue eyes guarantees you to be blind.
Leaving you with shades to cover the hollow left behind.

Adults will tell you sports lead to a promising future.
But they don’t tell you that it’ll lead you to losing your body.
Self-harm is a death sentence. A cut drops your value.
It forces you into the career of taking.       Taking the beauty from the beautiful.
Cutting a limb or two won’t hurt them. Taking an eye is just life.
Tell yourself they should know better. They should’ve expected it.
Expect the unexpected when you are beautiful. Expect a life of pain.
Expect misery and lose those emotions when you are ugly. You won’t need that conscience.

Forget about the forgotten already. Use that arm to grab a new leg.
Use your head to get a better one.
Use your emptiness to end others. They won’t need that life.
And don’t forget, to use your misery.
The more miserable you are, the better off the world is when you end it.
What do you think of this poem?
joel jokonia Jul 2020
Things upon things
Beings upon beings
Thats be the system
Rigs upon rigs
Blings upon blings
That's be the struggle
Things upon.  Things
I be want be upon all
Upon all kongs,
Upon all strongs
Upon all gods
Upon all wrongs
At least
My mistakes cease
To exist

Well I wish time
Upon cease
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Novelty means new
A Poetic Novelty?
Explain this to me!
A Poetic Novelty? Can anyone explain what this mean?
emlyn lua Sep 2019
-recovered from the papers of codename ‘Wolf Spider’, spin doctor for the Purist resistance-

his Machinery is glitCHing: o so human
imperfect beings produce imperfect creations
yes, I believe: a jealous god creates warFull people
metal is flesh is plastic is flesh is metal –
hybrid creatures, and yet one species only

to come so far and yet still be at the basic
his steel claws are tipped with choking poison
recovered from the corpse of Socrates himself
war is fitting: slaughter of life
for the sake of stealing Death

his Eyes unfaithful to himself, he is not the only observer
the naïf does not read the Terms and Conditions
of his own (not his own) body
throughout my life I have seen the necrosis
caused by blind faith in humanity’s humanity

am I stuck in the old ways? perhaps that is true,
but in the Old Days of the Old Ways you could tell with a look
what was born and what was spawned from a factory
only the brain remains, they have not yet found
a way to binarise my soul
if anyone could tell me how im supposed to make things italic on here i would heavily appreciate it (i had an account years ago i remember it being like asterisks but that didnt seem to work?)
Liz Jun 2019
We smile through eyes of sadness
Contradicting the choices we make,
Within hearts once full of gladness,
We smile just for old times sake.

In a land of decaying democracy,
Breaking down every wall once built,
Controlled by their vials of hypocrisy,
Injecting us with industrial filth.

Determined by the touch of a button,
Technology is the hope of all loss,
Like lamb dressed down as mutton,
Covering up the truth at all cost.

In a world full of corruption,
Stale from the greed of power,
We feebly await the eruption,
Whilst bravely sitting back too cower.

Then when all has become too little,
When we have sat back and waited to late,
When we are all too weak and brittle,
Have we succumbed to our chosen fate?

Lets not wait for fate to choose us,
Lets reach out for tomorrows dream,
No more watching the corrosion of rust,
Lets put a stop to yesterdays scream.
jayebird Jun 2019
when will this skin transcend into an iron exoskeleton?
when will these bones birth out from neath the fragile wine red wires of self-preservation?
water-hands ebb on about a digital dam of evolution,
meanwhile promising my-own ****** dissolution.
Eyes of our world
are eyes that see
ones imagining
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