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Ken Pepiton Jul 6
If life had made up a mind,
in the neighborhood I formed from
communally, we might all notice, we'ld agree,
we might not be the first to say, we know.

But you know, life, or the active agents of it,
makes up our minds willingness to look, see if it

might be meaningful when seen another way.

The flipside of freedom to choose, what may
be taught
to children, and what must not,
under any circumstances, be allowed known,

before a child has reached the bloom of youth,
the useful strength age, draft age,
pulled into the slipstream
of easy will
to prove worth, true grit, traction,
hobnail boots, true secret weapon, stick
and stay, and make it pay, the exploitation
unwinding wars perfected reasonings,
to the victors go the spoils, boys,

discomplication has begun, the unraveling
of ever, once again, the stories tell, the tale,
told in tapestry since Carol King, at least,

during the era of top-forty aimed at boomers,
the largest cohort of like-minded consumers,
ever propagated using pride of new knowing,
to push the value proposition
in Alcoa over Kaiser.

What local tax-base funded schools,
were required to do, in Massachusetts,
as Brahmin first intention to mass convert,
depended on a deluder, and a deceiver,
to do the work,
first make believe God can hate you,
for knowing what Eve knew, some how.

Original disconnection from the wisdom,
sin leaves no mark, but in the faith abused,

to aim, and miss, leaves no stain, aim right…

use the logic words prove, knowing one
is not enough, each can mean so many-
possible provables, using patience, truths as
developed the rules for inclusion in the deme,
the select few among the many called, whom we
deem among the elect, to whom much is given,

from whom much is required, as noblesse oblige,
indeed, duty to God and Nation, County, if you will,

Natural words twist across old sores
from bully brothers, mollified by battle buddies,
those who bore the brunt,
those Bonus Expeditions,
those dust bowl pawns,
those road builders, and bridge builders,
that made the old days look real good
on television… Dizzy Dean,
and ***** Mays, and that one year,
there in the story that took us through
the Sixties, right up to 2024, the summer
any boomer alive in 1954 remembers,
Maris versus Mantle, and the tub scene in ******…
make up the mind that remembers Beatle Wigs,
And Whammo everything, every fad we had,
let that mind never really
recover after the exposure to war, from inside…
that few,
those boys, men, now,
this wedom, tuned to my signal, thinking, dams

break, eventually, all the dams doing damage,
to the original intention allowing letters to work,
break free and wild,
as magi slowly brought back wit,
the bit of branching used
to make us think once
more an old idea, we
think slow, like a all day sucker…
make an image, I, mage of my own eyes,
Lo', I see, and say, hey, you, can you see,

does that flag,
still hold the dowery,
those stars in field of blue
above the BEIC stripes of red,
on a background as white as this?

This vast empty white space,
white wall between us now, you
and we the instigating impulsive wills

to know, sublime, beyond simple,
serious knots to learn to tie,

turbans telling Sikhs, the ontology,
why we are we, the chosen ones, and

the others, those we, must imagine,
have another reason for being, as we

have crossbred, or so it seems, as we
continue using old war reasoning schema

constantly trying to find the art official.

Riches and ease of existing, does, in fact,
lead to slavery, the will is made subject
to the feeding power, always, the owner
owns the user's fees, this is only right, see

first come, first served,
woe be the Juans who come late,

get one shot,
blow it, and you blow it for as long as
the will you failed to do was yours as

in the holy scriptures, all versions, common
thread, the planet we became on,

common, clean enough to make use,
we use raw letter A formt secret intent
to think, we used to say, no word wasted,
to the t we cross and the I we dot. or don’t/
recall each inflection in the fashion shown
courtly, while
in judgment found being wanting,
will to make a way to reimagine, a we to
think the original intention taught to you, for your
attention paid, intently, learning, we who read,

know more than they who can, but don't.

Some learn late, some never learn.
Fools make children laugh, who pays the fools?

If I die before you read this, did the words feel flat?

I trow not, letting this mind found made up, be
just right, among unnaturally neighborly bears,
some thing lingers from first intentions,
it truly can be imagined, just so.

After all the amendments needed.
To undo the original malintentions,

tie your hopes to those whose riches came
from ancient forms of diversion during deciding

the fate of the functioning laboring classes.

This is now the zone f-
from Gol'ilocks, original intent.

fsure, strue, suptyou
step on a crack, breaks yo momma back.
Reasoning was never taught where I went to learn political correctness.

Are there no fifty year olds who want to be President?
the pain rampant to my emptied faith,
showered upon a cautious bed of weeping lilies,
loots a once blissful child
whom begs to **** the relic sun...
blood poetry
as I am numbed in euphoria by
the closeness of his embrace,
the eclipse which held me in paralysis
slowly bleeds in the sky
as it anchors a crescent light of passion.

oh, he has held the disaster of my body
in his palm and has laid me naked upon him.

tucked neatly among the webbings of his fingers
is a whispering lily that sings me to sleep.

the sphere of black,
fixated upon the sky,
is melting...

I weep to see his loving eyes
pour over the deprived valley
that is the entirety of my being.

yet...
It is as if this man,
and his exposed nakedness encompassing me,
is the coming season of warmth
which teaches me nourishment...
blood poetry
spring has taken
the shape of a wounded coyote...

forcing a layered film
of something very dangerous
to hide in the bulb of each joss flower…

a brutal coercion made pure
by the ghost of the ending winter...

each day has forced warmth
upon me as if it were a ritual,

the annual harvest of my sanity.
blood poetry
el Mar 20
Maybe being insane
Is the curse
That was gifted
To every writer
Larry dillon Feb 21
Force feeding on two doses of clozapine.
Doc reclines in his chair;
I am restrained in mine.

"I am feeling fine, now,
feeling fine."

"It is time."
Doc persists," admit it for them...
you know what you did;
you know it was all real."

A film reel rewinds inside somewhere
adjacent to my cerebellum;
Front row seats to my favorite show-
I know not what to tell him?

It was all what I dreamt up on one of my.
Usual Sundays.
Savoring what lovely sensations-
'some' would insinuate are a sin.
It was me this time playing doctor,
operating on my imaginary friend.

This one pretends she does not like the licking
of a blade against her skin.
And when I decide to cut too deep
her safe word is always 'grin.'  

But Doc: that was just how we liked to play?
She had been longing for a violent death:
            I dreamt her up that way.

...

Before I could say what fun I had with the others.., teary-eyed on the other side of reinforced glass, resides my many made-up friend's mothers...

(Was it those two pills from before?)
In my final minutes ..
I have regained lucidity.
On death row for defiling those things
I thought only I could see.
A needle in my arm:
my death will serve as an apology.

...

I writhe, and before I black out, the lithe figure
of an old imaginary friend.. but if you WERE actually real..

A decade ago- I remember a incorporeal, corrupted, entity I allowed to fill my soul.

In place of the hole where apathy used to be.
The yearning for suicide was all mine;
Homicide was your wish-you resided within.
Broke my will and reality down day by day
by simply posing as my only friend.
Control/Desire imprisoned me.

Rewired my mind.
breaking me down into insanity.
but I am fighting now:
Thrashing with all the life left still inside of me.

She grins as I go.

musing to herself.
         She takes me below.

" I had high hopes for this plaything...
  my next toy is actually EAGER to ****. "


...For someone who wanted to be dead,
you had such a hard time keeping still.

-
A story of how the friendship between a man and his imaginary friend was simply that: a 'friend' imagined.

T/w suicide, ******, mental health
Jeremy Betts Jan 30
"I'll be back" threat or promise?
It's always back regardless
"Stay in your own lane"
Player one syndrome inflates the brain
"Have a nice day" not a curse
At the same time "enjoy your next 24" sounds so much worse
"Here's what you're in store for"
Is what you're gonna pay for
"No pain, no gain"
Different levels of insane
"Yo, I got sooo high"
Careful not to get stuck in the sky
"Pick yourself back up"
More often dumb luck
"First things first..."
Then substance and thirst
"Righting a wrong"
Whether right or wrong
"Gotta play to win"
Sometimes a win's a sin
Who has your back, a friend?
Then who stabs it at the end
"What you see is what you get"
Most won't get it
"Face your fear"
Pretend you don't hear
"Live carefree"
Die instantly
"And that's that"
Always the same black cat
"One step forward,
Two steps back" and cornered
"Chase your dreams forever"
A nightmare's a dreams that doesn't fight fair, so no, never

©2024
Jeremy Betts Dec 2023
We are a bad design
For example;

A vain person disgusted with the same person in every reflection
What insane being had the unmitigated gall to be insertin' that complication into a person
Self-deprivation an infection of a mind nurtured from inception
Do I even need to mention the who, what, where, why and when of my formation

...I've heard it said over and over again...

It's the creator of all creation, although I don't know where they're getting their information
I've read Genesis through Revolutions over and over again, no revelation
A costly salvation, so much rejection for every little infraction
Never seen an open invitation with so much expectation

...not a single one of us are getting in...

We're designed to sin due to his lust for "discipline" lookin' down at the chaos with a menacing grin
A master of manipulation, the "do what I say not what I do" origin
If he's who we're based on then he's who the worst of you see in your reflection
"God is good" should be turned into a question though I understand the hesitation

...I know the fear it's based in...

Not even a good god adaptation, parts of old religion taken and added to your own doctrine
Each page of "his words" a contradiction of the last no matter the translation
It's always been, it's not just now going through a mutation
Under face value it's basic power retention, not somethin' they'll be changin'

...you're in for a rude awakenin'...

Be smart, search your mind not your heart, that's only for circulation
It's lifespan based on repetition, same mission as the Reverend and fellow brethren
This whole things a set up, a con, a lie that people won't stop spreadin'
And if the threat of eternal damnation is the only thing keepin' you from sinnin' then listen

...those morals are set by an immoral faction...

©2023
Sadie Grace Dec 2023
I wanna slice up my arms
Leave some real nice scars
Let the blood drip down my skin while I grin like a ******
Then go back in the store before stopping myself from doing more and wishing I had tore open a vein
I’m going insane
Guess I just love the pain
A slave to my brain
It just paves the way for another “episode”
Wish I could just explode
Or slowly corrode
I don’t know how to be with people
I don’t trust the man working in the building with a steeple
They’re supposed to be good but always end up evil
Doing **** that’s illegal
So back to my original thought
Now you know what brought me here
I wanna slice up these arms
Leave them nice and scarred
Cuz this life is ******* hard
And I just wanna feel something else
Jeremy Betts Nov 2023
My head is everywhere BUT in the game
Existin' and livin', my very own ball and chain
I walk the walk, a strut of shame
I wouldn't recognize a day without a cripplin' amount of pain
Physical or brain
Far more damaged under this fleshy terrain
I've lost the safety line between insane and sane
I'm lost beyond what I could not contain
Low to no visibility, can't see through the fog and rain
Not a chance in hell I'm coming out of this the same
A constant strain on this average Joe camouflage membrane
One I've made to hide what I'm made of, keeping the real me out of frame
I'll take the skill, you go ahead with the fame
If it's destiny who needs a strategy, why train?
What happens to the rest of me when there's no more life force to drain?
If I knick a main artery vain would you then know that I am not playin' around when I say all pain, no gain
Don't need no stupid prize so I won't play your stupid game
It's rigged anyway but that's why you came

©2023
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