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Stardust Sep 2015
aber meine gedanken kreisen um dich
24/7
tag und nacht
aber es macht mich verrückt
denn jeder erinnerung
entgleitet mir stunde für stunde
minute für minute
werden es weniger details
ich werde fast wahnsinnig
deine augen
dein lächeln
dein lachen
deine worte
alles in mir will sich genau erinneren
doch die erinnerung fließt hinfort
mit dem fluss der zeit
den ich gerne anhalten würde
nur für einen moment.
elizabeth Jul 2015
he was always told not to be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf;
the big bad wolf and his big bad claws and his big bad fangs and the wicked way his eyes would gleam r e d in the dark.
do not be afraid,
                           liebling
, his mother would say,
brushing his hair from his forehead before kissing him goodnight.
he would curl under the covers,
                                                         ­ curl in,
                                                                ­        curl in,
                                                                ­                     curl –

oh, no.

do not be afraid of the big bad wolf, he tells himself,
staring at his mother’s coffin as it is lowered slowly into the ground.
(it was not an open casket. could not be an open casket. her lip was split and swelling and the bruise over her eye was too dark to cover and his father’s knuckles are still red and raw to the touch.)
do not be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf,
but when his father lays a meaty hand on his shoulder and squeezes,
                                                       ­                                                                 ­   he shivers.

“i am not afraid of the big bad wolf,” he says into the mirror,
staring at his own split and swelling lip.
he meets felix and loves felix and does not bring felix home with him –
until the day that he does.

“he’s not the big bad wolf anymore,” felix says when he tells him what he’s done.
his clothes are rank with smoke and burning flesh,
                                                          ­                                and he remembers his mother, and the closed casket at her funeral.
“i know,” he says, straightening his tie.
(this casket is closed, too.)

there is no such thing as the big bad wolf,
not now, not today, not when the time for fairy tales has long since passed.
now, his hands itch for a gun,
now, his fingers itch to pull the trigger,
now, he is restless and he is ****** and he is a criminal.
(who’s the big bad wolf now?)

“my father was a monster. and so are you. and so am i.”
his funeral will be a closed casket, too. he smiles.
                                                                ­                       kala weeps.
he sticks the gun in his back pocket and thinks of his mother.
do not be afraid,
                            liebling.

i am not, he wants to tell her. i am not. not anymore.

(but still he sleeps with the gun beneath his pillow still he dreams of retribution from hands dripping with blood still he wakes and forgets that he is safe still he breathes and is afraid, deep down, is afraid of the wolf he has become.)
insp. by wolfgang bogdanow from sense8
Alessander Jul 2015
You would figure
such a moment would be burned
into the paradigm of memory
when exactly did I learn
life was no cartoon?
well, it wasn’t one traumatic incident
rather a rushing current of events
a drunk uncle here, a screaming mom there
a belting boyfriend or toy-stealing sister
playmates picked dead last no matter
older boys bullying the younger
teachers who didn’t particularly bother
some cousins had yards and fathers
while others like me had neither
always more chores than fun
and no one ever explained how come
priests were less present and less kind
than the mexican street venders
there’s no specific scene to pause when I rewind
I honestly can’t remember.

It wasn’t at a funeral, by then
though I was young , I somehow knew
life was not all beautiful and true
that those adults who told me what to do
sobbed on dark beds and screamed at phones
then wiped their tears or ****** walls
before reentering the room
their eyes a little more like stone
while I pretended to un-see it all
and kept on playing with my toys, alone.
Weltschmerz: World-pain. World-weariness. That unique breed of melancholy born from recognizing the actual world will never mirror our ideal world.
Andrew Dunham Jun 2015
Ich will der nicht sein**
der auf deinen Zug wartet
der niemals kommt
Der, der die Anderen sieht
Leute, die sich umarmen auf’m Gleis
Die schnell weg vom Bahnhof verschwenden
Und da bleib ich noch
Ich guck’ ungeduldig an die Anzeigetafel
Die leer steht
Leer bleibt
Und dunkel wird
Ich will der nicht sein
der allein Heim fährt
Nacht ohne Wert
Heute Nacht bin ich der
Doch ich kann ehrlich sagen
Du bist das schönste Ding
Das mir vorbeigefahren ist
Cave Man Jun 2015
Panama city is
Where I saw you

In a surf shop
Working your hour

Me an my grandpa walked in
Looking for directions

For the restroom....

Out of all the girls in the shop
He walks up to you

Your amazing beautiful light blues eyes
Are what caught me

With your amazing blonde hair
I thought
(Wow)

Then my grandpa asked

Where's the bathroom?

You answered with by
Five guys

When you spoke I felt
The universe grab me

Your voice took me on a
Psychedelic trip

Your voice the music in my
Trip

I will never forget that
German Accent

6-26-15
scar Jun 2015
"sturm und drang" sagt ein mann
on the train
it's snowing.

agley they gang, the best-laid plans
plus the pain
of knowing.
Swords and Roses Apr 2015
die bäume sind frisch
der See ist salzig und kühl
Deutschland macht Spaß, ja?
Corrections much appreciated, my German isn't the best
Kitts Apr 2015
I am
not a
true racist...
I am
a culturist...
I do
not like
certain...cultures...
Even though
that culture
is my
own....
Bestrebe nicht
zu bemängeln und zu entkräften,
sondern eher
zu lernen, zu wachsen, und zu verstehen.
-
Do not seek
to criticize and refute,
but, rather
to learn, grow, and understand.
Go with etiquette

Ich danke Adrian Betz für seine Hilfe!
-
B Young Feb 2015
Walking around Widener bookstore
   Brown bag 40oz in grip on the first floor
Hurricane
my life and future funneled life a twister whimsical whirlwind
down the hatch guzzle guzzle. Oh, Christie! How are you!? can you see I am a mess? I know Youtell my Chinese girlfriend from our study abroad you saw me a mess in the bookstore. SHe is now heartbroken in chongquing. see ah ha
later im just returning books to get dope money.
LAter

Oh, I see you are stocking that Stranger Camus
Langston Hughes
English 102
I drift in my own “end of summers night”
still dreamin’
still falllin’
   Dropping, stumbling, the house of German exchange professors
   Sequestered on speed *****
Welcome to Chester

Corpse exquisite
  the Bride resides in physics-compartmentalized-drawers
  hiding refuge from the storm

He was Alone

                             ( Most of the time he got weirded out easily)
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