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Specs Jan 27
A telephone wire cut.
Something's wrong inside my head.
The thing is, I don't know just what.

Chirping alarms
Whirring fans
Smoky smells
Red. Blinking. Lights.

A robot whose been programmed wrong,
An exposed sparking wire.
The buttons don't click all the way.
Hazardous, watch for fire.

Do not approach

This automatic switch is supposed to make me excited
This one makes a genuine smile.
Nobody notices, though, that I'm on manual control
And have been for a while.


Electricity and buttons and wires
Do not mix well with water, I think.
But because I'm in desperate need of repair
I'm in constant thirst for a drink.

"Should have bought that extended warranty."
"Did you turn it off and on again?"
No. Because it's broken.

Hard drive shorting
Lights are blinking
And I'm thinking
My last thoughts exporting


The only thing that works well anymore
Is the part that goes through the motions.
Perseverance is my constant notion
As I burn myself out on the shore.

It's hot to the touch.
Back off.
Soon, it might Explode
Bruh, I don't feel like a person anymore
Danilo Florenzio Jun 2018
The worst of pessimists, covered by his own mist,
Does it really have to be like this?
He has an open mind, but his motivation’s blind
Can’t he just stand on his feet and switch the disk?

Trading his love for life for creativeness
Waking from his dreams, he wish to stay like this

Walking on his own, he has turned his records on
He knows all things will get better
He’s all right and always wrong, he knows where he has come from
But this only makes him sadder

On his path to self destruction, he is on a roll
Right or wrong, on his malfunction, he’s got no control

Moaning about his own life, for sure he won’t make things right
Does he really needs to be like this?
Why does he has to be mad, why does he wants to be sad?
Why does “he” needs to actually be “me”?
Self struggle
Gray Jun 2018
Hey! What’s going on with my computer?
It’s acting very strange.
It’s making everything seem so deranged.

I’ve never seen my computer act this way.
It’s screen is frantically pulsating,
It’s making everything seem so obfuscating.

Why is this happening?
I really do not understand.
This was definitely unplanned.

Now it’s really starting to worry me.
Perhaps i should just turn it off and go away.
I think this was enough internet for today.
n Aug 2017
p  o  p  !
goes the
eyes   of
when   in
her hand
laid    the

no    such
she    had
looked­ at,
like a still
before her

where  is
the pearl
ion she'd
ened out
f     o     r
herself  ?
where  is
the   eyes
she    had
s   e   e  n
herself th
rough for
the    past
century  ?

"what is
t   h  i  s
ction ? "

s  h  e

"it  is  the
i m a g e
of  souls,
d  e  a  r
it  shows
n  o  n  e
but    the
t r u t h,"

said   the
y o u n g

the    dear
a       mere
m o r t a l,
the  immo-
rtal,    who
d  a  r  e  s
tell        me
who i am ?

she  took  an
other     look
at   her   own
i   m   a   g   e

the   too   pale
skin   and   it's
effect   on   her
bland         face

and           then,
she     smashed
the       imagery
of      her    own

s                            l.
   o          u
Scarlet McCall Apr 2017
It's HELL.  
It's a po' try.
It ain't pro--retry.
It's a poo hole.
It ain't purty.
Sinkin' lo, yo.
It's loopy.
JayceeJellies Feb 2017
I'm a malfunction,
either momentarily
or permanently.
I don't fit.
Sami Rose Sep 2015
Though I am merely a young girl with a wounded soul and a tattered heart, I promise that I have truly fallen in love with you--a work of art.  All my life, I was afraid to make the jump with a fearless, open arm attitude.  I was afraid I'd crash and burn; I was afraid to mess up your perfectly placed pieces.  In all my solo act performances, never once did I think I would ever have a partner to sweep me off my feet and take me to new heights, but now, I am soaring over boundaries that were never before attainable.  You've embraced me to join your assortment of colors to see which hues and shades we could create.  You've written me into your melodic masterpieces to show that we are one in a world of malfunction.  Hand in hand, we were molded for one another in the way our bodies shape together in statuesque perfection.  Perhaps it may just be my imagination, but you--you, my love--are the stars inside of me exploding into a light show of auras and I can only hope I am the same for you.
Poetria Jul 2015
It's the first of July; 2015
I'm still stuck in December.
My mind won't move on,
It's warranty ended there.
The last image it goes to
Is of us; or rather, you.
My body is ro-bo-tic
Going where it is told
My minds lost its charge
(Lost track of time, actually.)
It slowly regains some
Then loses it once more
Because the image of you
Or rather, us.
Makes it malfunction
*All over again.
Malfunctioning mind.
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