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Tell me in ways of desperation
She's saying my name name a **** from the raider nation
Under the sun rays of sin city waste land
We could've been made but u had me pacing
Im taking all fade like the time Im facing
Tell me in ways of desperation
She's playing them *****'s Trump in hand never changing
She's looking away but I had her craving
Pmoney my game and I'm never waiting
Could've made you my main but I'm always taken
Tell me in ways of desperation
Tell me in ways of desperation
Hated the fame but the money raked in.
They called u insane throughout your training
They put you in chains until your breaking
Now your stuck in those reins steered by satan
Tell me in ways of desperation
Could've been my brain that's always tainted
The look of shame on his face was painted
Will I remain feeling dead cause Im always hated
Was it the pain you retained that keeped u naked
Tell me in ways of desperation
Moments are stainded missery created
Your leaving me to blame and my life was slowly shaded
Were you feeling the same as we became separated
These clouds will rain as our love was faded
Tell me in ways of desperation
Tell me in ways of desperation
Sandra works the slots all day
Smoking cigarettes; taking free drinks
Feeding the bandits instead of her soul…
Knowing it's daylight, somewhere!
Ken throws craps; blackens the Jack
Winks sickly at the cocktail waitress
Imagines doing things way past his prime…
Knowing it's nighttime, somewhere!
Passing hours like their years
Bathed in sticky syrup distraction
Dismount stool, lurch; pin-***** pupils
They meet at the buffet; tepid, bland
As their vacation; their marriage
Mid-life shape shifting sand!

© pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved
Mid-life crisis? Dead marriage? Boredom? Life!
Aaron LaLux Feb 2018
The underbelly of our collective psyche,
has been cut open from the gut and gun pokin’,
now the sadness runs rampant,
in the flooded streets of these American dreams,

see in this scene things aren’t always what they seem,
especially when viewed on a screen that’s green,

she says her father doesn’t bother to call her,
says he lives in Vegas where he lost his job,
just another unemployed American off the assembly line,
now he takes care of his mom who’s lost her mind,

gone senile from years of denial that her son is an alcoholic *******,

meanwhile resistance is still futile,

and this son of this mom is the father of the girl I’m with now,
as we lay in bed talking about trivial things instead,
of what really matters which is what we’re doing with this life,
just passing time until we’re all dead I guess,

feeling like an abstract painting of American Commentary,
a dissenting dissertation of this perverse dystopia,
don’t mention most things that are worth mentioning,
which is part of the problem that keeps repeating in amounts that’re copious,

and I’d continue with these verses and get more in depth,
but I’m being rude to the nervous girl in my bed,
so I better get off this laptop and back to that jackpot,
or rather Jill *** whatever that means I’d rather be misunderstood instead,

and that’s why I don’t mind if they don’t understand what I said,

or rather don’t understand the words that I wrote when they’re read,

because,

the underbelly of our collective psyche,
has been cut open from the gut pokin’,
now the sadness runs rampant,
in the flooded streets of this American dream,

see in this scene things aren’t always what they seem,
especially when viewed on a screen that’s green…

∆ LaLux ∆

Free link for new book: www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
EmilyBatdorf Oct 2017
33 guns
thousands of bullets rain
58 fall
thousands of bullets fly
500 more wounded
thousands of bullets spent,
one man,
thousands of bullets.
Guns roll out,
family treasures, sport, food, keepsakes
Power and destruction,
life and death.
Thousands of guns out,
now people are out.
Hundreds have fallen:
schools, theaters, clubs, concerts,
malls, stadiums, streets– but don’t take away our rights…
Thousands of bullets, stinging farewell kisses
This poem is not intended to turn things political, it was my intense reaction as I tried to understand how all of this death exists in the world.
Danika Oct 2017
Dreading Sunday --
    and the blurry Monday after
hit for hit
      and blow by blow
one, two punch
     of a broken, shattered world
I dread Sunday
    and though I be not superstitious
I can't help feeling
    the notion of things in threes
murders
      fires
           fill in the blank
what will Sunday bring
           I dare not think
This month has been rough, between the Las Vegas massacre and all the fires in the NorCal and in OC. I grew up in Napa, went to college in Irvine, and now live in Nevada.... this is all hitting much too close to home. Literally.
Arthur Vaso Oct 2017
Thieves in the night
Playing with copyright
Poisoned pens
Vultures in the den
In the Palace of hypocrites
Tea served at ten
If only the winds of the sea
And the rains of the sky
In a massive hurricane
Could sweep the Palace on by
Inspired by the book "The Palace" by Paul Erdman
recently
after every massacre
by some fanaticized pathological idiots
politicians call upon their citizens
to come together
and pray for the murdered and their families

this is absolutely appropriate

but it seems
that ever since 9/11
the nation only comes together
AFTER more of its members have been killed

I wish very much
that the nation
   AND politicians
would come together
BEFORE  the next massacre
and take appropriate action
to prevent such disasters
in the first place
Little Lyssie Oct 2017
sometimes
my heart aches for this world.
and sometimes at night,
i can't stop my tears
from leaving warm trails
and soaking the pillow case below.
it's not that i'm surprised, no.
but it's that
the pain and grief
that others are feeling
don't just roll off my heart
as easy as i thought they would.
for all in vegas.
it's going to be okay- but it will take time.
Mark Lecuona Oct 2017
Only the dead tell the truth
But their mouths are silenced
We accuse our brothers of sin
Are Christ’s words spoken here?

But I don’t believe that
I was born again last night
You made me see the light
I know he will forgive me

I don’t walk around as much
But I still make eye contact
I want to know who you are
I want it to be love and not fear

But it’s so hard to believe
I saw faces on the pavement
Too late for earthly sacrament
Yet from blindness they now see

I want you near my grave when I go
I thought about being scattered about
Maybe memories are better as stars
I’ll let the sun draw your shadow near

But is it late for you to believe?
I’m dedicating my soul to you
Carved stone words are true
My ashes won’t be lost at sea
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