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Aaron LaLux Mar 2018
There’s levels to these levels,
she gets me because she gets me,
I’m high on life checking texts for what’s next,
as I navigate my carriage through this city,

staying gluten free like Putin me,
daily practice of Jiu Jitsu and yoga,
the real deal like Holyfield,
I thought I already told ya,

always on a holiday,
a Libra that’s gone till October,
and you think you’re gonna win this race,
but I’ve got news for you it’s already over,

I’m at the finish line with a vintage wine,
making a toast to the good life,
watching the sunrise from my balcony,
already knowing it’s gonna be a good night,

good night.

∆ LaLux ∆

The New Book Is FREE Here:
Rachel Procopio Apr 2017
I am much more than this body.
I'm a temple, I'm a soul, I'm a mind.
Sometimes I'm a movie stuck on rewind.
Reminiscing and replaying,
All the times I was decaying.
I am much more than this body,
That will fade with time,
Nothing lasts forever,
Not even this rhyme.
Written on 1/26/16
I was once shy
I always asked myself why?
"Be different" I whispered to my nine year old self
I recalled that at the time I hated myself

And so I bloomed into this wildflower
I became spontaneous, daring, unique, strange, intelligent yet naive
And so the problems started

You see I wanted to be different
But I didn't know the cost
I didn't know the cost until I became seventeen
You might think it was just the phase of a teen

But NO
As I layed in the ground watching everything pass by I died on the inside
I became consumed to the point of hide

"Be different" "Be accepted" "Be skinny" whispered the nine year old
I tried and I'm sorry for wanting that mold
"I'm sorry" I whisper to my seventeen year old self because the agony was not worth it

I thought drugs and alcohol was lit
I thought boys and women were ****
I thought comments were superficial
I thought social media made me official

Dear nine year old,
bullying made you weary
Tears made you strong
Thoughts killed you
And comments surrounded you but that is gone
That is past
Who are we to judge others?
Who are we to comment?
Who are we to feel?
Copyright Delilah Wine Williams
Anna Vigue Oct 2013
Happy Birthday to my DAD
Another YEAR of life to add
Another YEAR of wisdom gained
Another LEVEL'S been attained
Yet there's more ACHIEVEMENTS to UNLOCK
To level up is no CAKEWALK
With the power of FAMILY by your side
I think you will enjoy the RIDE
Ofentse Tsie Jun 2014
smiling through your sheets
showing you flames
your eyes glowing in the dark
our souls connecting through our skins
getting you wetter by the touch
with your moans becoming the music to my ears
every hair on my body jumping about to have a piece of you
my breath mumbling your name in tongues
those long nails piercing into me bring the feeling of your soul further into mine
the bed springs singing the melody of love.
                                                 our love

By: @OfentseTsie & @_Dvniel
Funny enough this was not planned.
2aftermidnight May 2014
Condotti, Setting in a street named after someone mysterious in this century, or what more no one cares, filled with history, cared by the worst and the best hidden stories, those streets are filled with voices of the past mixed with noises of the future, siting here in the steps of *Condotti staring at the people that about to become from the past, at the people that will be the study of the most mysterious and un-logic humanity, even me i'll be one of those lost voices that been lost in the streets of Condotti.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow,
Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted.

Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.

— The End —