Dakota 2d

god traced her fingers down my spine
and said, “my child, you don’t believe
in much of anything these days,
why are you putting your faith
in empty bottles and 2 miligram bars?”

i scratched my nails down my arm
and said, “god, you are just another
voice i hear. how do i know
you’re not the one that tries to kill me?
how do i know that you’re not the one
who whispers about how terrible i am?”

god ran her hands through my hair
and said, “sweetie, i’m god. you have
to trust me, you have to believe
that i love you and can save you.”

i balled my hands into fists
and said, “god, i have stopped
putting my faith in forces
i hear in my ears. i can’t believe
in something that will only
let me wallow in my sickness
because it’s a trial.
my life has been a trial
and i’m going to make it end
if i hear one more goddamn

god vanished and laughed herself to sleep.

Closing my eyes,
reality slips away
and so do I.
I open them again,
and breathe in deeply.
I feel alive as the world spins,
and it seems as though
everything has a double.
The violet trees begin to dance,
encircling me and enticing me
with their trance.
And the grass upon which I lay
grows taller and taller by the second.
I feel myself engulfed by them,
but it is a new feeling
I wish to endure.
I feel so unified with nature,
unlike I've ever felt before.
There are faces surrounding me,
but they do not look normal to me.
They remind me of Picasso
and of Van Gogh.
Twisted perceptions of life
with extra flares of color when needed.
And these faces reach out to me,
far beyond what is humanly possible,
and lift me up to the clouds.
Among the clouds I soar,
feeling as light as a feather
when flying past the busy birds.
I hope I never land,
I love being this high up
and away from the troubles of this earth.
It's beautiful up here.

originally written 6/28/16

Silkiness trickles down my calves
Pencil protruding from a puncture wound
Yellow woods, stained crimson
Oh…. Nothing there

Eyes travel over blooming hair
Grassy greens into a sky blue
On a sticky afternoon
I’m glad she didn’t notice

The pencil finally ends its dance
And the figures start to breath
Penciled eyes blink, sweet mouths curve
Please talk to me

A slender figure dancing on the trees
Right outside my window
What a curious way to entertain me
Why don’t people see?

I hallucinate there’s a world around
With people crowding all around
I imagine some asking, pleading, begging me
Muffled voices murmuring.
Wake up darling.
Be alive and speak
That’s why it’s only a dream

This is the poem i'm proudest of. Glad to post it here.
Kado MacMurphy Feb 25

i am the liquid rage u consume to,
sweat me in the blood you,
drop me foxy 5 Me O,
collided with a chainsaw carving of a chainsaw,
carving gelatin figurines of wolverines,
stand back in my skull crusher's splinter twin,
and find mr. bones, i hefta make a plea to take this,
foxy out my brain, blow
rainbow holes connecting me to him,
lead me to the bedroom,
mr. bones,
is all alone,
objective one,
i am lebron james, and this is a conversation,
mr. bones agrees and now i know we gotta beat that trik,
white light, contaminated
strapped tight, go ahead and check my pockets,
for the souls i have devoured,
low in the hours,
face my wrists, the memory,
wont come to me.

Kado MacMurphy Feb 25

no king, at a door
i am sofa king high,
or am i, being had again,
who is this bitch in here,
jusify the why am in cohootz with,
international, the nationals slow melt from nothing,
elemental magic Lords of deceivers,
stitched out from their flesh,
embryonic anti sources,
like roaches in day light,
how am i the chosen one,
capitally innovative,
i have no inspiriation,
money motivated so i guess i have to keep MY money rhymes,
and nobody wants to hear em dun,
sincerely, they aren't any fun,
do u have ur gun,
i have mine, and the crime,
is on live,  tube on 5,
boy aged 9, has just died,
oh why lord why,
but its six,
a bag of six,
subsized by uncle sam.

Ren Feb 8

We all have demons
mine just so happen to have
An eye watches me
floating a little way from my face.
I can feel something
living in my neck,
and it curls around my spine,
constantly blink.
it aches.
they blink together to some unknown metronome.
I try to ignore THE HANDS that grab at my head and shoulders,
gripping the sides of my head,
pressing into my temples.
My demons loom over me and BREATHE,
Cold gusts,
So cold..
I tremble in fear of the man who travels through dreams
and wonder how much HE KNOWS
and wonder if HE CAN SEE ME now
and is he GOD or DEVIL?
for now he is my DEMON
and on the back of my neck
I feel his EYES.

Arik Stone Feb 3

It is 5:16 am and I’m sitting, smoking a cigarette out my window.
I’ve barely slept in days,
Everything around me is quiet and serene, not a single soul awake,
The only sound is the wind rustling the leaves
But my brain is on fire.
I don’t know if it’s from the sleeplessness or the million thoughts all at once swirling around attacking my mind.
But it hurts. A searing pounding in my head.
I want to do something fun
I want to do something reckless
I want to do something dangerous
I want to do something that’ll send adrenaline racing through my body just so I can feel alive.
I want to run away
Go on a bender
Party for weeks
Fill my body with drugs
I want to risk my life
Feel blood dripping down my skin
I want to do anything to feel my own morality.
This is why at 13 I was binge drinking every day and popping pills,
The substances were enough to keep the voices quiet for a little while.
But tonight I stay at my window,
Chain smoke another 4 cigarettes,
Thinking of all the juvenile things I could be doing.
This is what mania is like for me.
There’s little warning, just an itch under my skin of feeling stuck, or unreasonably bored.
When it hits it’s not like a ton of bricks,
There’s no immediate realization I’m manic,
It feels more like neon shadows slithering towards me,
scratching and seeping themselves into my body
Whispering, but still screaming, directly to the source,
Invading my peace,
My stability.
Goddammit just let me fucking sleep.

Vitiate the hull of mutton
Taste the stringy woman lungs
Suffocating in coiling scaly black tar demon opium smoke
The voluptuous carpentry is anxiously hyperventilating
Your throat is baby xylophone
You teeth are fuzzy rabbits
Their fur is thick and itchy upon your tongue

The slide of octopus silk is massaging the nerves to pointy slumber
Deep in the cauldron the baleen gates are straw and rapidly parting
For some reason they won’t swim up
You taste salt’s bite
Emerge from the sea before you drown
You silly fool

Pilgrims are waging the mass death
Great lynches mandated by God
Wailing with stinking dying young
Having a picnic at the gallows

Whiskey shivers alive
Boiling and screaming in tongues
Strobing from inhuman pain to morphine stupor’s loving numb

Your rapist is a pastor
Your child is the angel that keeps you from returning home to rosy Eden

Your families’ legs are sewn in a knot
They are frantically dancing the reel of the beheaded roach
Untie their rainbow thighs
To pay penance for your grave disobedience

Apologize to your hardworking father
He’s doing the best he can
Forgive your ungrateful daughter

Pam is crying
Towels are crying
Soap is laughing
I’m laughing  
You’re Pam

You are mouse and you are crumb
Yellow red striped glaucous cat
The fawn’s neck pulsing thick with squirming lump of rat

This is all occurring
In the wan lakes of your lady eyes
Seventy six have you

The paper walls are breathing in melodic unison with

You are the Christian
Frantic running from the lion’s jaws
You are bored and waiting for the Greek tragedy
You are Hindu
Attempting to dodge Britain’s guns
You mercilessly ram the bayonet into his muddy wrinkly face

You see the assassin firing
See the bullets pierce
Yet all you feel is your index finger hooking the smooth trigger
And the rough handle of the handgun

The black eared checkered cat
Hissing with xiphoid lizard teeth
Not pretty enough to support your drug religion

Hungers for smiling child
Hungers for drowning fear
Glazed on tattered wings of shredded feathers  
The hot slaughtered meat

Escape the toilet’s screaming
It needs
The sink bedpan is overflowing with bleeding

Air is acid breakfast scented cereal urine

This film is bad it’s bad
It’s Nixon

A high pitched eerie screeching
Pitch shifted hymns echoing in Westminster

Your sister the spinster of my festering whisker!

Sacrifice your schedule to the great lord Day Plan
Burn the calendar
Burn the crying trees and their hair accessories

Tiny arms are sprouting from your fingers with their own tiny hands
Tiny arms from their fingers are growling with gushing stumps

A body within a body’s body
You are the human macrophage
Be a cannibal when you grow up

You realize your son isn’t yours
He’s the bastard of your rival pack
Become Cronos with radiant mane and the hairs of the velvet sun

Across the wood frame mirror
You see me smear
The graffiti crooked and huge black words
God is great
Get the pants













Krystal Lèleck Nov 2016

Ever feel like the wind is speaking words
You can almost hear?
Howled syllables that give you shivers
And dance upon the air.
Just a trick, my imagination throwing a fit.
And yet…
Is somewhere there?

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