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ScaryGary Jul 22
My sanity is gone
tired of being the pawn
it's only bones on the lawn
with spite in each bone
it's alter ego is all alone
my insanity is grown
fray narte Jul 19
I stick my fingers in my throat
and throw up a basket of swallowed suns;
under it, my tongue is parched and pinned in place
like a dried house moth on an entomologist’s hand
that nurses it back to life

and demands devotion in return,
a poem in return.

But I have purged the feeling being out of me
like a cold, cold man now averse to the ways of his younger lover
who is alive for all of it — the lust and the starving kisses
and the quiet deaths in the morning only to haunt at night.

I leave letters for my bitten nails without meaning a single word,
and go to lie with the superficiality, the hypocrisy nesting under my tongue.

I have started writing poems again — see where they take me this time
and find myself here, once more
where a fool unpacks her baggage and out I come rolling
like a dead body with a foaming mouth, a brown moth burning under the sun,
a leech that scurries under salt and needles,
slowly eroding like sanity.

She thinks, therefore, she is, they say,
but at what cost? She looks on and pens this poem
with a tiny smile on her lips.
written June 6, 2022, 10:53 am
Heidi Franke Jul 3
The Illness

You spend exponentially
All services of every cell in your body
For years
To keep an ill one alive

Possible prolonged moments of happiness and hope
trickle in
Between the hospitalizations

Your spending is what you find out
He doesn’t trust.

What one finds out
Is ones unprepared-ness
My son wants to claim his life
For himself, to which could be his end or not.

Like the breaking egg, beak first
Or sunlight cracking through trees
Where light comes out and gives birth
With uneven decisions
Will I live?
And what IS living with a chronic diease like?

What he believes is not that he doesn’t trust you,
He just wants to trust himself.
What other choice in the insanity defense is there
That would be as human, then giving freedom of choice to him.
Illness Trust Paranoia
My love it was never anything serious
We fall in and out of love
We are young and not enough
to understand all the forces we play
We play in a ground of mortal death
Love, I will see you
Will I ?
I cried for us yet you're gone
Rider of the storm
You're a dog.
My puppy. Naive and cute.
**** once I thought
now I ought not to think that way.
My heart knows it loves you and it will never stop, but my mind is telling me you don't care and I should move on. My friends tell me ur an ***. I don't believe them. Are you proud of me? Or do you think ur an *** and you want me to leave you alone? Unrequited love. or am i waiting forever like I want and you want?
Wrote this after my hospitalization in 2020 and thought it was ****. Dang does it resonate right now...
Thomas W Case Apr 30
It's the little things that
drives one mad,
a snapped shoelace,
on your way to the
liquor store in the
driving snow.
A cockroach in
the cereal,
dead batteries, when all you
want to do is listen
to music.
Shifty eyed people in
my house, quietly plotting
my demise.
It's the tree of
life, cut down to clear
space for a parking lot.
No love from my brother.
Another frosty day in April.
Cigarette prices constantly
rising astronomically.
Footsteps in an empty
hallway.
It's Just a hop, skip, and
a jump to the madhouse.
Phantom Poet Mar 9
Everything is moving fast,
At a single blink,
Gone is the days into the past,
All we have our choices to think,
In our decisions to trust,
Distracted by illusions we cast,
Illusions of purpose and freedom to last,
Every decision we make is another path,

Do you not see?

Everything hangs on the scale of choices,
It's just like zeroes and ones,
Like simple binary,
Our destinies coded into reality,
To be or no to be,
To exist or not,
To pursue answers beyond insanity,
A choice to accept or reject,
The very existence of choice,
Dictates free will,
Or so we would believe and feel,
And pretend to be free,
But always end up,
Exactly where we are meant,
to be.
Each time we’re surprised
when the killer kills.
Somehow we’re misled
by his demeanor and smiles.
He said he’d get counseling,
or that he wouldn’t do it.
We never thought he’d
actually engage in killing.
We think he’s “just like us,”
someone motivated by
“rational self interest.”
Who wants a world reduced to dust?
He laughs. Who wouldn’t want
the supreme thrill of total control
that one gets from killing?
And after a good body count
there’s nothing left to live for.
There’s no reason to keep living.
Total annihilation
is the top prize.
Power through destruction
of all of our lives.
It’s better than ***, money
or prestige. Who needs respect
from others; terror and horror
are so much more satisfying.
So the next time someone threatens
killing, let’s listen. He’s not lying.
M Vogel Feb 22

"How deep is it,  really.."

Ah Babe.. do you think its too deep?
.. It can be done, sweet-one--
we can do this **** in our sleep.

What fall  is really a fall, at all
when the one,  falling down
just below you..

In his sleepy-sleep-sleep..
sleepsleepsleep,
    when just a little-boy..

        prayed the lord,  
        his soul to keep, keep keep.


We go down, Babe.    Mmmm
There is nothing to fear,
but fear,  itself..
  .
      .
  .
     .
   .

     .

ah, sweet girl..
we  go  down.


my love said to my love..

"What if I wanted to break..
What if I, what if I, what if I, what if I..."

https://youtu.be/8yvGCAvOAfM

Mm.
we're gonna take a little time off..
relax...   get lost...
Tichozpytec Feb 14
Those drums of war, oh, what an awful sound
But cries and screams, they cannot be drowned
Pieces of cloth soaked with salt and crimson
Despair and violence sets life against new prisms
Aggression and hunger deeply rooted in his genes
Mad Tsar of East succumbs to vile dreams
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