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Zywa Apr 10
I'd like to invent

a board game with bad luck points --


if you were to lose.
Novel "Zonder genade" (2001, "Without mercy", 2004, Renate Dorrestein), part 3, 'Ga Terug Naar Af' ('Back To Square One'), chapter 'Wat Phinus bereikt' ('What Phinus achieves')

Collection "Old sore"
Piyush Mar 26
Locked inside the walls,
Sitting in the hall,
Trying to recall,
Yet I slip and fall.

What is it that inspires you?
What is it that desires you?
Is it inside these walls,
Or is it the outside calls?

Did I do something wrong?
Or have I been wrong all along?
Is it me who doesn’t belong,
Or is it the world that belongs?

The struggle is hard,
The game isn't fun,
But the process is an art,
And the player is one.

The inner voices ask,
"Am I done?"
The player removes the mask,
Killing himself with a gun.
01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01110010 01110100 00111011 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110011 01101111 01110101 01101100 00101110 00100000 00001010 00001010 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101110 00001010 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110110 01100101 01110010 01111001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01100011 01101000 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101000 01101001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01100100 01110010 01100001 01100111 01101111 01101110 00101110 00001010 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100001 01101110 01101011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100010 01100101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100110 01100101 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110010 01110100 01101110 01100101 01110010 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 11100010 10000000 10100110 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01100110 01100101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100110 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00101110
Yes, I am being a bit goofy.  But who knows, you may like the challenge of decoding this poem.

Decoded for those still unable to decipher.
I love you with all my heart; my soul.

I loved you before I met you.
I love you very much, my little white dragon.

Thank you for being my life, my love, my partner, my light… my wife in this life and the next.
Surrender.  
Lose. Give in.

chance it all.
throw caution
against the wall,
watch its greasy
sliding downwards,
at first resisting gravity,
and then submitting to
the power, the Overwhelming
hopefulness
of love

yes, winning is a dangerous feeling.

Sometimes you gotta go all-in,
slide those chips, slow across
the green felt poker table.


Prefer thoughtful consideration,
a preponderance of favorable yeses,
longer than the maybes and the last list
of occasional, dangerously
self defeating mmmms,
and the exciting  unknowns
needy of unlocking
places you’ve never been,
lairs of dark uncovered by
fresh first time daylight

when the smile criss crossing
the body entire, a chilled fire,
when sensibility strives to
overcome the senses,
it is a checkered flag of yellow
cards to floor fallen,
let them be

slow breathing, check your
heart rate, blood pressure,
do not give the results to
a sympathetic cardiologist,
if results are higher than
normal
because you are,
good.

you know the rest,
all in, all in,
surrender to
beat of I am
am in,
all in

and sprite~write an only true love poem
send to but one,
yourself,
signed

yours truly*

P. S.  And never forget,
that you learn best,
you learn the most
from all your failures.
Sun 11/26 am
1/26/25
in the b.t
nyc
Trinkets Jan 25
a solid basis of conflict
between generations
is the blame game thinking
“if only, then”
meant only to distract
from the hopelessness of knowing
“not now either”
You always beat me
At every game we played
So when I broke your heart
It was only natural that
You'd shatter mine
Effortlessly
Checkmate
Trinkets Dec 2024
Look, here is a puzzle.

A mystery for you to solve.

You don't have the answer?

You're meant to have them all.

Just read the signs, in faces, reach out,

but never call. Don't ever ask the questions,

that's against the rules. You are the only one

that find the silence cruel. Only you find it to be

troubling. Everyone else can play this game, no problem.
Valentin Eni Dec 2024
Once,
they played in yards,
stick swords and plastic guns,
mud-streaked faces,
laughing in the sun —
their joy alive, their hearts still warm.
they built forts from blankets,
imagined war as a game,
their laughter ringing bright —

But now —
Helmets cage hollow skulls,
dead eyes made of cold glass,
stone faces locked in a grimace,
marching in perfect sync,
a death-walk of men who forgot how to live,
boots crunching dreams into dust.

This is not a game.

Their hands now, hideous hands,
clench steel that tears mothers open,
splits children’s laughter into screams,
fingers like claws on triggers,
twitching with mechanical precision.

They sow death like seeds,
but nothing blooms —
only fields of twisted bodies,
limbs splayed like broken dolls,
smoke spiralling into the sky,
a sky that they pretend not to see.

This is not a game.

A little girl clutches a doll’s arm,
her brother’s blood still warm on her cheeks,
while the soldiers, these shattered souls,
paint walls with terror —
a grotesque mural of hate and ruin.

They move like zombies,
flesh wrapped in cold commands,
feet dragging through ashes of innocence,
mouths silent, eyes empty,
the light inside them
long since extinguished.

Flesh burns.
Buildings crumble.
Old mothers wail, their voices
splitting the sky —
cries of grief-torn ghosts,
pleas unheard by machines,
hearts replaced by circuits,
thoughts reduced to orders.

I see them.
I hate them.

Machines wrapped in flesh,
monsters programmed to ****.

They were children once —
soft, human, whole —
but they chose this path.

Now, they trudge through fields of ruin,
crushing love beneath their heels,
dragging the stench of death behind them.

A world devoured by horror.
Glass eyes blink,
and with each blink,
another life shatters.

It’s blood on their hands,
it’s death in the air.

This is not a game anymore.
I created a song using Suno AI. If you’re interested, please follow the link. Does anyone know how to make links clickable?

https://suno.com/song/037ea46b-8bc4-4cfa-aae0-edfff8f27333
KHY Nov 2024
my fingers are laced in a chalice
of drugs that **** my sensations.
i used to resist them as a loner—
until the white coat angel
ignited my fouls with
radio-**** tweaking.

now i sprawl in expiring
fictions that come anew
and reprint their additives;
making me a king
of numbers, of colours,
of game.

until my world is all
mold and brain.
Stacey Nov 2024
I'm okay,
But I'm not okay with this.

I'm not okay with
the burden of having
a string constantly tied to my mind.

A string twisting and tugging,
showing and comparing,
validating and devaluing.

I'm not okay with
being concerned with the opinions of everyone -
how anyone can decide my worth
with the press of a tiny red heart.

I'm not okay with
playing the game,
being played by the game,
and inevitably losing the game.

I'm not okay with
being a slave -
happily forgoing my wages
for a selfish,
deeply greedy,
abusive,
master.
My struggle with social media
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