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Ruheen Jan 2021
Disappearing isn't easy.
It takes time and effort
To stay away from everything
That you think helps
Because you're always itching to get back,
And it's always an inch away
From your fingertips
Because all you'd have to do is click a button,
And you're addicted.
Again.
I'm back. Don't know for how long. Don't know if and when I'll disappear again.
But for now; I'm back.
I just couldn't write. Didn't know what to.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2020
Teasers, itches wishin' scratches,

gentle dharma level reasons to be
attended to
now,
lest we forget
unget
ungiven sigils signifyin'finite
insignif-ican't sirs, if I can
sort the signal from the noise
-- pause, remember
watch something on the idiot box, oh yeah,
that reminds me,
here's the itch, that fully funcyanin' lie,
yellow and black warning with
magenta scars burn printed
RK Nexivm cult branded
pain proven acceptable
true children of pride,
humbling themselves,
to be the knowers
of the secret
meaning
brand name, rampaging stallion
roger out .-. -.- the code is RK okeh.
K being gone black, fade to black snappy,
tic click 256 shades from white to K
saturated all light absorbed,
out, black, night ink
itching to link
one thought to another,

peace of mind, itchless wonder
being the aim of artists intuition
given poetic licentiousness's final amen.

... now, I lay me down to sleep.
Not sleepy, and there is no place I'm going to, as I consider
mortality fizzing into ever.
Fheyra May 2020
Applause to this object
A star to look up,—
But stands lower than a house
Who gathered all the fantasies— of hopeless travellers,— Which seek for devoted fancies.

Sparkling garlands,—
Simply, a life of itch
Flashlights everywhere on the platform,— Inutile to its basis
I memorize the trades of their toasts—
One day, I shall have my own boast.

After wiping spots on gold bars,—
I am still not a debauchee of love;
Even if they buzz,— Beehives— Are not mine to offer,—
But a gourmet to their stomach.

Assets clothing their merchants—
Reserving the furnitures—
To show the best features
For myself, I want a slammed window,—
Not some firm statues
"Galatea, we all desire Galatea!"

How adorable when 'twas knotted,
Lovely, but not loved,
Sheltered, yet not protected;
Paid, but not proclaimed
How many landlords will adapt me?

There is a target—
To a sudden stampede—
Oh, how startling!
Please, capture me
I will submit to your traps!
This bird is willing to be caged— Away!
I may now have my arrows— To run the bay!
Flipped death is my reward..
We do neither want to be objectified nor sold. Everyone is priceless, especially our lives.
James Jean Dec 2019
This constant itch
Is quit the -

I just want to give in
To what I shouldn't even
Think, but I do day in and out
So I hold in this piercing shout

Oh just to give in to it
But lives would turn to -
So I hold on by my finger nails
While my insides wail

Oh this constant itch
it is quit the –

Defective Words
Vic Sep 2019
My scars are finally starting to heal a little,
But my veins are itching for more.
A "poem" every day.
Yani Dec 2018
There's this itch I feel
but haven't figured it out yet;
is this a drive to speak for the unspeakable,
or an urge to spill words like blood from a wound?

There's this itch I feel
but haven't figured it out yet;
is this a trigger for a wreck that is to come,
or a spark of idea from a wicked mind I can't own?

There's this itch I feel
but haven't figured it out yet;
I can't scratch it like a card, gambling for a prize,
nor can I treat it with alcohol, poured on rashes or drank in a rush.

There's this itch I feel
but haven't figured it out yet;
it clouds my visionless eyes, naked or on lenses
it agitates my trembling hands, I can't smunpew.
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