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SassyJ Feb 2016
The mind engaged in logic
I can barely see
My days sudden bursts
I can rarely breath
The flight of the air
Carries me through
The panic and dire
Soothes my blues

It’s the lurch
Of a flip
It’s not lunch
But a trip

Those piano notes
Cascades my blues
A remedy to inspire
I died a thousand times
When I missed him so
The baggage I build
Grazing on those grounds
******* to fly again

It’s the lurch
Of a flip
It’s not lunch
But a trip

Ferry me through
Carry me  through
For I need a train
And a carriage
One for me
One for you
One for us
One for all

The lurch
Unlatched
The trip
Unflipped
Lets all have lunch. Huh?
http://hellopoetry.com/atlasmarker/
Inspired by Joshua Ingram. Thanks for the inspiration and for reminding to keep creating. To touch and see the essence of human existence, the tapestry of life and death. For we exist then fade. We are deluded and insane and we trip back to this falsified illusion. Disillusioned but always deconstructing the paradigm. Your notes are waking Joshua..... feel the breeze.
wraiths Jul 2015
he makes my stomach twist and lurch,
acid eating away at rotting flesh.

lungs are raspy and full
of second-hand smoke and grief.

i can't bring myself to eat or sleep;
i can barely keep my eyes open but
my eyelids won't listen to me lately.

i don't sleep until the hunger bites hard enough
or the fogginess in my head takes over.

it's a sad way to live
but the funny thing is,
i've never felt more alive.
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
I sit upon my throne of a bench and drink my coffee,
All day long I play games or play the piano,
The smell of dark roasted black, strangely so sweet,
And just wait or watch the flowers and grass grow.

Just a moment, give me a second to explain my life,
Popcorn popped at the stove sits, I look like lurch,
It's just like that, things that we pay for Movie Time,
I wasn't the least bit interested in going to church.

So I ask myself where are we going from here?
Anyone else notice these rules seem quite austere?
I wonder if I'm the only one who wonders far or near
If I could get a job that matters in even 10 years?

But what does it matter, I guess this way of life's my fault,
I will just get fatter, such a noble way to excuse my waste line,
As each day grows longer, I'm just likely to somehow evolve
Into another one of those guys who is just a waste of time.

Why if I had my way-don't get me wrong-this wouldn't be,
I'd live like a wild man would, a Robinson Crusoe, oh dear me.
Why I have to feel so down all the time? Well it's all so free,
I live in the land of the free, free to become a casualty
Of corporate competition, whether I meant to be,
Wouldn't really matter, like that means anything.

And the answers always been that I'm alone with my dream,
We already "knew" you had a way out of everything,
You just happen to lack the needed ambition to leave son,
So get with it your life is none of our concern or anything.

Dear wounded, lost and powerless one, alone having "fun,"
Even in your darkest, most horrible despair,  consolations.

— The End —