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Vexren4000 Mar 2
Remember when,
Courting was a matter of confidence, wit?
Remember a time before attention,
Was not IV dripped into our blood?
You may not recall such a time,
Even I do not.
Humanity can take anything,
Twist it into a devil.
Now even a compliment, a digitized like,
A poetic statement,
Or even a lover,
Is lost to a flow of comments and criticisms.
Making us lonelier than ever before.

©BAS
H E L E N A Feb 25
I've been still,
Caught in a sweet stasis,
Buried under the same, baseless
Candied gags, slippery hags, body bags ー
But I can't go back.
Haven't moved forward either,
So I still sit silent here.
Maybe I'll someday wither ー

Like dandelions as they scatter in the wind,
I will feel no more the weight of societal sins.
Staying awake in anticipation;
That feeling you get when you see a road blocked
and a wrecked car hoping it was an accident
Eventful; excitement to see that tar black
Crimson on tarmac
and those trampled, broken-pretty shells ー

I want to be a doll.
A pretty hollow pale porcelain
you still can't hurt when I slip through your hands,
Or when you let go and drop me,
Or smash me into the ground ー
It's all the same, isn't it?
You buy, bore, break, blame, build, rebuild
Rebreak, reblame, replace...

I remake real-fake love into stanza-sized stories
Just to rebrand them as poetry;
A molded part to inspire some abstract art.
They're better off that way,
Locked in and stationary;
Sweet standstill sanctuary.
And I'll stay to watch their models fail and break,
As they too, disintegrate ー fellow ******* degenerates

This time I was at your disposal,
But we're all just glorified disposables ー
Ever-hungry, hedonistic at heart.
Excuse her language.

"THOUGHTS"
Francie Lynch Dec 2018
Me
The most rhymed word
In the poetry world is
Me.
That reveals volumes about
Us.
See?
Chase the chaos
embrace it
wrap both thighs around it
until it screams a name you recognise
and replies
with rhythmic fury
coursing through the contortions
spinning on carousels of shame and regret.
Dea Elizabeth Nov 2018
My first love was real love —
absolute, pure bliss.
An innocent lie,
but what good love story isn't?

My second love was lust —
passionate, destructive lust.
A hedonistic trip,
but what great love story isn't?

My third love was safe —
conventional, traditional safety.
A step back for feminism,
but what ****** love story is not?
jlf Oct 2018
for all the turbulence i sought
and sought
i was pretty good
i was so good

i battled through all the chaos
my kite was finally flying

but i snorted so much ritalin
my pupils are tar pits
and she calls me a hedonist but
i don't know what that means

i do know that
i fear neither death
nor consequence
you can treat me like your last meal
always at my most decadent

i remember i need to eat
then delete the thought
the only thing that sustains me is the rushing

by now
you should know that

it's all about me
we did the maths remember?
hypomania is like having low grade superpowers that you can't co-ordinate to do anything other than self destruct
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
As a young man in love,
I was selfish.
I walked with you,
I shared food,
I slept with you,
It was my insatiable thirst;
Desire, and
I needed to gulp it,
At any cost,
For survival.
Perhaps you felt likewise.
I didn't know.

Now, being older,
That
Which I do
Out of love,
I do for you.
William Maxwell Sep 2018
She's full of lavender kisses
Fond of purple lipstick
Eyes of sapphire riches
She's possessive and hedonistic
She is love.
A Simillacrum Aug 2018
When I look down I know
one world apart
from when I look up.

A world below, more reality
than what I've known of reality
through living since my birth.

One earth, two worlds,
splitting hairs,
scrambling airs,
creating errors,
chastising errs
so much
that nothing's
learned.

Up/Down,
Living lies,
Blurring lines,
Up/Down --

It's not that I don't know
what's actually worth a ****.

It's that I see worth as a curse,
and would, rather than peace,
see ecstasy return me
into the breeze
as dirt.
Flip the switch.
begin again
with another face
another name.
look for similar
but never the same.
Your aptitude for scouting perfection
leaves targets out of sight.
Now I’m looking down a different barrel of abstraction
no time falsified
no idle hands clawing by
tracing the road maps
you never ventured.
With vanity bruised
ego dented
you circumnavigate fragility
searching for strength
trapped in a loop wondering
why fevers always run with a chill.
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