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Tristan Brown Mar 2018
This Stress is killing me
No time to think
No time to breathe

This Stress is stronger than me
Holds me down with chains
Why can't I break free

This Stress

This Stress
It has killed me
No human left
All that remains is machine
Whisper Mar 2018
Who am I?
Am I who I used to be?
Am I who I'll become?

I can say one thing for sure.
I'm not who I was.
I never used to have to cry myself to sleep before all this started.
I never used to have to talk myself down
When I just wanted it to end.
I never even wanted it to end.

That still leaves that open-ended question: Who am I?
I've lost myself.
I've not only lost myself,
I've lost everyone I ever loved.

Back to the questions.
Am I who you want me to be?
Am I who I want to be?
Am I just a machine to be reset and programmed,
Over and over again?


I've found myself.
I am an imprint of the pain
I inflicted upon myself by thinking these thoughts.
I am just a machine that doesn't think for itself.
To be reset and reprogrammed
Over and over again.
SoZaka Mar 2018
robots need wires and some ingenuity
lovers need desire and some promiscuity
can you feel the connection in our hearts
like a current it flows electrically
bringing me alive from the depths of artificiality
so I may know life
before it is a dream once again
Zelda Feb 2018
Young heart
Trying to fix a mechanical monotonous machine
It’s rusted
But the gears keep turning
Getting it through the tunnels
Blinded by flashes
Plastered on the face of every magazine

The masks move closer
Close your eyes tight
Don’t give them the satisfaction
They can’t shatter your shattered heart

She’s perfect.
It’s plastic.
Just tragic.
You crave her victory;
The affection of faceless strangers staring
On the other side of the glass
Snow white shackles
But it’s written on your grave

You think you’re in control
But you’re walking on a bed of nails
They’re pulling your strings, Puppet
If you fall from the tightrope you’ll disappear into emptiness

And the fear of ripped up teddy bears
Rejected to the shelf
It’s too much to bear

The possibility that what you want is a shadow you’ll never catch
You’re eyes, plastic immersed in porcelain
You’re falling apart at the seams
And no one seems to care enough to stitch you back together
You’ve forgotten how to smile
And pushed away those who used to care
Told them to stay out of your business

You’re drinking arsenic
Walking a narrow path with no doors
And every step forward erases another piece of you
Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
You call yourself a soldier of fortune,
you have no idea how right you are.
Even though you think you're fighting for something important,
you're marching for a rich man's new car.
Each bullet you shoot is a stock market spike,
and each victory is new land to claim.
To them you're a barcode or close to the like,
those you fight for don't bother to know your name.

History is written by the winners,
so don't trust the accounts you read.
The strings are all pulled by the sinners,
who wouldn't offer you a bandaid while you bleed.
You may give your life for the flag,
there's honour in that thought.
But they're using your morals to drag,
you and your platoon from spot to spot.
To shoot to **** and see what treasures they've got.

The industries fund each side of the war,
making life and death just a casual bet.
Ford provides the tanks for both just like before,
money spent with a return they're guaranteed to get.
Land's value is more than you know,
'cause the world ain't making anymore anytime soon.
So pick a spot on the globe and go,
and ship out the next loyal platoon.

History is written by the winners,
so always question what you hear.
Behind the scenes there's profiteers and grinners,
and you're seizing the power and resources they hold so dear.
You may give your life to protect,
every single man, woman and child,
but they're using you in retrospect,
and smuggling things in a corpse defiled.
Do they even glance at the bodies that they have piled?

The world's in trouble, there's no denying,
and each soldier has stayed true and loyal.
But at home the problem is double, you'd never know with their lying.
You can't fight your own men and thus you can't get the oil.

Just like every crime, you have to follow the paper trial,
it's no different this time, you're a victim of a government that seeks to fail.
They've made you into a collection agency,
one with guns to force a payment.
It's in plain sight so blatantly,
every person and country has to pay their rent.
For population control,
everyone has to pay the toll.

History is written by the winners,
so only one side gets to plead it's case.
Instead of helping the kids getting thinner,
evil gets a makeover and changes it's face.
I don't wish to shame anyone doing their duty,
I know you believe you're doing the right thing.
But what I'm saying, or eluding,
is they've turned war into business that's always profiting.
So before you put your uniform on,
ask who will benefit from this battle.
You might see the side you fight for is wrong,
and they're marching you to slaughter like cattle.

The real wars are at home,
but they want the heroes to roam,
No one to stop their own war crimes,
counting dollars, quarters, nickels and dimes.
They even call it a machine,
could it be more obvious what they mean?
Amanda Kay Burke Feb 2018
I wish I owned a time machine
So I could take both of us back
To the blissful days we were carefree
Before we drove our lives off track

I would give up every dollar I've earned
For one chance to start over again
But I cannot erase or cover up the past
My mistakes are eternally written in pen

I wish I knew then all the wisdom I know now
I would have turned around and walked away
If I had a do-over i would say no
To the drugs instead of a half-hearted okay

I am completely unable to restart
I've been walking on this path too long
I'm stuck living with the decisions
That somehow all turned out to be wrong

Regrets haunt my mind every day
Scars leave me with no place to hide
If I run they stubbornly follow in pursuit
It's impossible to escape though Ive tried

I'm forced to handle my mistakes
Replay words i said but didn't mean
So I waste my time counting the things I would change
If I could invent a time machine
About regretting past mistakes. I think we all can
solfang Jan 2018
loving you,
is like walking
on a landmine;
suited with a
vest decorated in
dangerous explosives

one wrong step-
                          and it goes 'kaboom',
just like ticks
of warning from
my puny heart

                                    you hold a machine
                                   and prepared to shoot;
                                   as if I've not experienced
                                   the after effects of this war,

just so I could win,
the peace treaty
of your affection
I love comparing love with explosive— both are not safe to be held or toyed around.
MARK RIORDAN Nov 2017
THE KILLINGS IN AMERICA
ARE DOWN TO ONE THING
ITS THE CAPACITY OF THE GUN
THAT THESE KILLERS CAN BRING



THEY NOW HAVE MACHINE GUNS
AND OOZIES AND KILLING MACHINES
THEY HAVE THOUSANDS OF ROUNDS
TO UNLOAD ON THE SCENE



YOU MUST BAN THESE GUNS
THAT HAVE THE CAPACITY TO ****
AND STOP THEM BUYING THEM
AT THERE OWN FREE WILL
ALL THE KILLINGS IN AMERICA MUST STOP. GUN CONTROL MUST BE MADE WHICH PRESIDENT WILL TAKE ON THE GUN GROUPS. BARE ARMS YES BUT NOT MACHINES GUNS PISTOLS REVOLVERS AND SHOTGUNS ALL SINGLE SHOT GUNS.
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