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Psychorange Apr 20
If you don't admit, you never did.

You can think and shout, to solidify yourself and enforce who you are and what to do. Or else you invite the liquidity of your progress.

I have an attention problem. And a reluctance to deal with things that hurt me.

I have an internet addition, an avoidance of confrontations, a lack of will to follow through. Am I air? Evade the senses that bother you. Coast and coast.

I write to hold myself in one spot. To put my focus and attention into the repeating letters I know in patterns that form the words I know. My function is to imitate and apply here to the best of my abilities. Machines can perfectly imitate and apply but it is the eyes of a person to perceive and feel.

I am the owner of the actions. I could possibly not own this paper or this pen, but I have paid my attention and actions into this. The fingers, wrist, eyes, tendons. I am the puppet master of this stringed body I inhabit. Without me, this body is a shell. Your life, moments and sense of self are precious.

I am cold, lonely and bored. My confidence in self hasn't been awarded so I don't try. Where are my rewards? Where are my victories? What do I want? Can I stop retreating to my slumber and solitude? Quietly and slowly existing.

I beg for freedom. To venture out. To see and touch the dark side of the sun. May that convey.
It was supposed to be for handwriting. But I guess typed it. I wrote and I posted this. 2 actions right there I can own. Bravo me.
ScaryGary Nov 2021
it's a tree's life
a birds and bees life
the bees knees life

but they carve into me with these knives
see, i'm a tree and i help out the bee hives
in every land of milk and honey
honey, it's the honey that's the money
it's straight tree life
not down on a knee life
i stand for one thing and that's all

texas chainsaw massacre and hatchets
lost limbs and widow makers
in every atom is a gift within
every thing of thick and thin
it's straight tree life
it's so great to be life
i have one godly fate, to all relate

breathe me in and lay beneath
i am the shelter that you seek
come to me don't be afraid
i am all warmth and in all shades

it's a straight G's life
yo nuts swing on deez life
it's a tree's life

we all shake with the leaves
and say goodbye when they leave life

spring will be back to see us
not exactly, but we will be us
loving the sun, wind and rain
changing with the weather to be the same

accepting change
knowing we will live on
tree life
stay standing
M Vogel Aug 2021

You are in there,  I am certain of it--
Behind the gear's finely-honed,
precision fit..  gear
in to gear
in to gear

into gear..
And I wonder..  do you want out?
The machine  on the outside, self-repairs
Any attempt towards dismantle  from
the external,  is futile..
But the internal,  beautiful girl..

"I don't know what you mean, about 'machine'"
She is apprehensive, those beautiful
brown eyes,  looking up at me..
"Look down, sweet girl"
Her thighs, fully parted,  as I slide
in to her.. those amazing hips,
moving so perfectly with mine,  extracting..

Milking from me, my warm  pulsing *****--
a deeply-penetrating lubricant,  pulsed
deeply into the machine
As if to lubricate its gears..
As if..

But penetrating so deeply, as to now
permeate the insides  of the
mechanization's innerworkings--
turning from lubricant, to that
of a corrosive nature..
Fully coating now, the inner you..

as it turns back now, into that
of a healing balm
Bringing to you  a moment of Light  
  and internal clarity--  
long enough for you to see

That the machine  is made vulnerable
by the ever-changing qualities  of
Love that found its way through
As the awakened parts within you, for the
first time.. understand
the machine's love-blocking, nature

And you begin to choose, mid-******
the machine's dismantle,  from the inside--

'Little by little..

Line, upon line..

Block, upon block..

Precept, upon precept..'


Until we have the chance,  once again..
to do it all again
the power of christ compels
.
Payton Feb 2021
The snow drifts were
       quite high, piling up into the
northern sky, burying
      towns and trees and the poor souls who
    had fallen asleep on the grass
and had awoken with shivers as snowflakes
left little kisses on their eyelids.
    Except that, it was never grass. There was never any grass to begin with. There was no grass
      or spring
             or sun
                  or summer
                            or birds.
There was only winter and snow.
And the blinding, white terrain had become both a place of         desolation and
        s a n c t u a r y.
The Aroura Borealis danced like a beautiful blue fire across the night sky. Stars blinked in and out of existence.
And somehow, the halls always remained.
The blue halls.  
             Imagine, if you will, the Colosseum cut into halves and shaped like an elbow macaroni.  Drop it out in the middle of an arctic wasteland and wash it in the blue glow of the northern, night sky.
A bright yellow light poured out of the windows and onto the snow, but no one was ever inside.
Some say it's the doorway to heaven.
Others say it's the gates of hell.
And then there are the strangers. Strangers who wear their lavender, silk headscarves and avoid the rumors of such an exquisite and eclectic piece of architecture.
Others like myself.
"If there is no one inside, then where is the music coming from?" He asked me, his blue eyes shining as blue as the heavenly hues against the midnight clouds.
" The halls will hum if the wind passes through them just so."
We listened to them once more. A low and ancient hum emanated from the structure. It was an old sound that resonated within me-unnerved me.
The mysterious blue halls were not a simple door to some glorious silver city or the passageway to a fiery lake.
      
The halls were the most beautiful and interesting instrument the universe has even known.
"It's the harmonica of the gods!"
Perhaps one of them
dropped it.
Perhaps it was a flaw in design.
Perhaps it was meant to be silent and with one teensy miscalculation, an entire orchestra of notes were born by the wind.
Perhaps it is telling me to tell you that you should look not towards all that makes you perfect, but the imperfections because that is where true beauty rests.
And you are so beautiful.  The kind of beauty that doesn't know it's own beauty. Like when you are sleeping, and the moon washes over your face. I like when you are sleeping, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware.
This poem was based off of a dream I had years ago. It was written in 2016. You can find an image that looks similar to the structure in the poem here: https://www.lifeinitaly.com/tourism/rome/rome-for-free-ten-best-free-sightseeing-in-rome/
Amanda Kay Burke May 2020
So soon the end of mankind will come
Machines will learn
Hear them hum
Attack us humans in the dead of night
Until that day gets here I'll sit and write
Just a silly little piece I wrote after watching iRobot
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
incubator
technological mother
wi-fi our blood vessels
to your eternal link
make us passionate machines
symbiotic connections
programming a love
continuously on update
in lieu of heartbreak
in lieu of heartbreak
in lieu of heartbreak
in lieu of...
fail
buffering
abort
retry
error
JΛM Dec 2019
Righteous anger is intoxicating;
Brain cells sold to the fiction of the mind.
It funds peddlers too loudly debating:
Oh, what to do with words spent on designs
Of machines combating contradictions?
Their motherboards are hardwired for the ****.
Any thoughts or beliefs on opinions?
Just wait for their hunger to get its fill.
Nothing like teeth flushed with red and venom.
***, death, and chocolate cannot compare
To the moral high ground's cheap decorum
Of beliefs held in contempt and despair.
      Because paying attention to the wit
      Of my getting hard done by is the ****.
Em Oct 2019
In Death
there are only
Machines.

Machines
made to guide the man
to a heaven
that never existed.
i woke up in between naps to write this im going to sleep again
A M Ryder Sep 2019
We flew aloft
On mechanical wings
And suddenly the heavens
Were within reach
To those who could
Build the machines
That could take them there
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