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c Jun 3
My soul is flying
I am an adrenaline ******
High on the excitement
Of being alive
I am in love
With this wild ride
Called living
Maddie Rea May 6
Frustration eating my insides never again will I feel you

Always accompanying me through everything always by my side

Thick and thin but now I’m to think to even let you in and if by chance you allow me that bliss

You **** back, my eyes close anticipating your hit but it never comes

Allowing myself to be consumed by the anger of the blow, lingering, never able to feel your pain

My adrenaline swells bring out the rage in me

Can’t confide in anyone because they could never understand and when they can fathom it goes ignored

My pain, anger, and rage makes them mad at me and only because I can’t obtain your beautiful pain; **** your excuses it’s not like you can just leave, it would only tear me apart

Whatever the debt I will pay even if it leaves everyone in pain
Maddie Rea May 6
Finally got the money, took me all morning, I only have a few choices

Diving into the smell of death and the maggots, the sun isn’t hot enough while I’m sweating through my black tee

Middle of the night my stomach begging me, I go out to see how much shining weight it’s gonna take to carry me; Waiting at the yard my bones telling me to scream

Five am rolls around so I am deciding wether I live or die, fingers fly across the screen, anticipation causing the weak stomach. The text popping up, be ready, now to wait the three hour eternity, insides mutilating me. ‘Bing’ “I’ll be out in three.” Sandpaper skin, you better not ******* touch me

In the evening you’ll find me pleading with strangers, just give me what I need. Can’t you see I’m sitting here dieing, all they have to do is have a little sympathy

Soft caress of my purple brush, just another touch up. All you hear is the loud click of my heels, bass humming through my body. I’m over being fake and phony, just give me the money you now owe me. Packing up, so ready to leave, I can feel the hunger getting to me; I’m going 80 ready to pick up these five g’s knowing it will cure me

The pain is so bad I need this gun with me; my plan c just incase I decide to free myself of there monsters inside of me. Fever in my veins, ice in my brain, terrified to go back to where we came. Why can’t I leave this place; emotions gripping me, please let this substance ease my brain, only caring about this one simple thing. I can hear them all screaming my name as I no longer feel anything, all I can remember is the flash and the bang
False Poets Feb 2018
complexity bias

how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex

poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews

Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%

perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -

give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences

I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces,  you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied

25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born

there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future

this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden

my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder

my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under

so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority

you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions

resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length

compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
OpenWorldView Feb 11
Oh, that sweet,
intoxicating feeling.

So, addictive
after one-time use.

I want it
I need it.

That adrenaline,
that dopamine.

You keep the drugs.
You control the dose.

I’m just a desperate ******
who’s in love with you.
Andrew Feb 6
I’m making an honest living
Everything else I’m giving
To keep the world spinning
Yet I feel I’m not winning
As others pass me
Thinking they’re classy
Their weapons blast me
Causing pain everlasting

They’re like crack addicts
With attack tactics
Viciousness attracted
Their violence didactic
They can’t spare the rock
In this paradox
Where they care for stocks
And selling glocks

Farmer
Meets charmer
A disguised harmer
Dressed in social armor
With wealth they flex
For wealth is success
Wealth can undress
****** impressed

Materialism strangles
With salesman angles
The consumer tangled
Becomes helplessly mangled
Looking to turn the tables
I cut my social cables
A cutthroat mentality enabled
Only financially am I stable

A ******
Hunts me
Grunting
Bluntly
About getting his dues
Through cut and bruise
Controlling the news
So I know I’ll lose

The social anxiety
Inside of me
Pirating
The life of me
From the strife I see
Makes acting righteously
Seem like goodnight for me

To avoid being a fool
I play by their rules
By acting cruel
To win this duel
Of fatal competition
That Satan envisioned
For our moral dereliction
From our paper prescription

With no self esteem
I join a selfish team
With a hellish dream
Believing genocide cleans
I’m always conforming
To not be a minority
But a thorn in me
Says I’m *******

I’m perched in the mist
Of being purposeless
So ******* purchases
Drown my worthlessness
When my heart is dying
Yet I must keep producing
I think that I’m trying
Which is quite amusing
After demon fusing
I can’t see I’m losing

I’ve morphed from a hoper
Into an interloper
Who’s splintered poker
Becomes society’s choker
J Feb 3
Truth is,
most of us
are junkies.
Always
chasing for
that hit,
paying with
our hearts,
all for the
high we get
from the
sweetest drug
called love.

But
I promised
myself that
I’ll be sober
and clean.
I need to
get you
out of
my system.
Out of my system.
Zach M Jan 25
Looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle

Trying to drown my demons

Who knew the ******* learned to swim

Dropping to my knees screaming to the sky

Praying I’m heard and granted relief

Tired of hearing the devil on my shoulder

Wanting to tell him ******* and good bye

Knowing it’ll never be that easy

If only they knew the thoughts that I have

Doing everything I can to dull this feeling

This warped way of thinking that my answer to these problems

Are the actual problems I’m faced

Blaming everything and everyone for the way I feel

Knowing **** well I’m the catalyst

To this round about life I live in.
Armand-DeamoJC Dec 2018
Love, what sweet despair
and what mournful joy
Is love, having a wife
To hold at night
To kiss after work
or
Is love, changing the lonely shower
into the ******* hour
To hold at night
To make love with after work;
Though:
Is love, the poison of our hearts
and the fuel of despair
To cry at night
To drink after work
Love is always defined by a family or it's defined with ***, but no person can argue. Love hurts us, and it breaks us, it uses us
Poetic T Nov 2018
My mother she was one with palms pressed
                                                Asking for help..
Help to feed us,
Help to keep her afloat.

You listened, wait what was that?
                                     you didn't...
Na you played her, used her trust
in you like a torment, she looked to
the heavens and all you gave was hell..

Men were  less than what she saw,
but always too late.
            Married in your place
                                         of every prayer.
But you just kept knocking her down there.

Last time I went to church was
                    because there was free chocolate.
You see with me, my mother grasped  at
straws. She went from one form of you
to another like a ****** clinging to a new fix.

But you were just like before, same old ****,
                 different day...
I knew long before you weren't one to be trusted?
Why you ask? Because there where ones before you..
                      I read your book in the fantasy section.
This thing needed a
                    
                           Parental Guidance Sticker.

Some contorted morals, thrown in with what
                  can be only described as a  WFT's.
I knew that those at these places of worship
                   peddling there own version of this god..
Didn't believe there own words, so why the hell
would I be gullible enough to be a sheep in there world.

The last time I went to church,
                                         was for free chocolate.
                                    The last time she went was in a coffin..
Slam poetry
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