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Cecil Miller Dec 2018
Ten minutes til the perculator
Brings me from grime to grind.
And in the morning stars are setting,
As soon the sun will rise...

On a world that I hate to hate.
On a world that loves to hate me.
I have to go outside and want to die.
I cannot stay in and hide.

There are monsters in the field
And they've got the taste of blood.
There is no end in sight.
I cake my face with mud.

They always know to find me,
Though I move in patterns, rare.
Deep inside, I turn inside,
I deny dispair.

I know I'll never beat them.
I avoid, but can't back down.
And so I'll take the beating,
But I'll try to rend their skin.

I know just how they see me.
The same as they did then.
Silent words that we all know
Do not go unknown for sin.

The time has metered nothing.
It hasn't changed a thing.
If authority lets loose it's leash,
The dogs would gnash again.

The eyes upon me see distainly
What they want to hurt.
Only, just, to keep alive
What every monster wants.

Ten minutes til the perculator
Has darkly roasted beans,
That was ground into powder,
Like the bullets in my lean.

The night will soon be like
A blanket ripped from me
To show me in the basking light
For all the world to see.

They'll say that I'm a monster.
I always was so strange.
I was a trouble-maker, boiler maker
And the only one to blame.

They'll say I was a bad seed.
When all of them do know
The type of horror that befell
From the monsters long ago.

In times of triumph I did learn
How best to bide the time.
They think I'm so predictable.
They're thinking colorblind.

For all the worth of quiet,
And to rest this savage pain,
And retribute the misery,
(It won't happen again)

And yet you'll cry for justice.
Say it's never served.
If you used measured all they put on me,
They'll get what they deserve.

The victim becomes monster,
The world fears the marters more
Than any of the heathan clan...
Ten minutes, nothing more.
I wanted to write something provacative and edgy. I also wanted to empathize with another point of view. I think if it polarizes, that's a fair reaction.
Haylin Dec 2018
You've been offline for 16 minutes
I could have said it, but I didn't
I had it written, but I didn't send it
I'm kind of a coward, I'll admit it.

I couldn't fit it in a space that I thought you would read
I had a tendency to ramble when you listened
or pretended, and in the poems that you've never seen
it's just as bad,
I go careening through a bending path of bramble
tryna scramble to the point
but I lost you
neck deep in the prose that arose
around a metaphor packed to the brim
with condescending tid bits
where I use your words against you
but a heavy weight that sits
over it all, when I lost the only friend I can talk to

so let me spend the next half hour
showering over you
another lesson in epistemology
honestly I don't know how you could be
so dim to miss what I've put in to this

Do you not see how wrong you are

Does it bother you
To have every miss step
pounced on and deconstructed
I was talking down
just to knock it through your thick head
but I guess I ****** it
I'll just have to say it angrier now

Let me spend the next two months convincing you
whatever you had seen in me was through a lens
I didn't deserve to be seen through
All it took was losing you to see
I'm exactly where I should have ended up

I know that no apology
will unwind the web I spun. the web I sit on now
to watch what I've undone with my own hands.
Hands that even now subside in fear
of what I'd hear then in your voice
when you reply
to let it die

So I'll let it die
I'm sorry
Zoe G Dec 2018
Isn't it
fascinating
to think
that we aren't that far away
44 minutes
and 1 day
till I'll say
I've been waiting to see
you
my
friend
I find it interesting that someone you want to see or spend time with could be so close, yet out of reach for whatever reason.
Aaron Elswick Nov 2018
You've been offline for 16 minutes
I could have said it, but I didn't
I had it written, but I didn't send it
I'm kind of a coward, I'll admit it.

I couldn't fit it in a space that I thought you would read
I had a tendency to ramble when you listened
or pretended, and in the poems that you've never seen
it's just as bad,
I go careening through a bending path of bramble
tryna scramble to the point
but I lost you
neck deep in the prose that arose
around a metaphor packed to the brim
with condescending tid bits
where I use your words against you
but a heavy weight that sits
over it all, when I lost the only friend I can talk to

so let me spend the next half hour
showering over you
another lesson in epistemology
honestly I don't know how you could be
so dim to miss what I've put in to this

Do you not see how wrong you are

Does it bother you
To have every miss step
pounced on and deconstructed
I was talking down
just to knock it through your thick head
but I guess I ****** it
I'll just have to say it angrier now

Let me spend the next two months convincing you
whatever you had seen in me was through a lens
I didn't deserve to be seen through
All it took was losing you to see
I'm exactly where I should have ended up

I know that no apology
will unwind the web I spun. the web I sit on now
to watch what I've undone with my own hands.
Hands that even now subside in fear
of what I'd hear then in your voice
when you reply
to let it die

So I'll let it die
I'm sorry
This one isn't too dense so I don't think it needs much explanation.
sushii Nov 2018
the colored light forms the hours
the minutes

time ticking away
there is nothing left for this day

but i cannot go to sleep
for i always have light on me

you can’t unplug me either,
because then you cannot wake up




i can’t wait for the power to go out forever.
c Oct 2018
Lately
I’ve been thinking
About how people
Used to write
Letters.

They’d send them
Across the sea
And wait.

One month.
Three months.
Five?

But so much
Can happen in a week
Much less
A month.

We each have a clock
With an unknown.

Minutes that countdown,
minutes we’ve wasted.

An indefinite supply
Of a definite number.

Tell people
What you would write
If you knew
Something would happen
In the month you waited
For a reply.
We Aren’t Promised Tomorrow, But We Make Plans For It Anyway
de Negre Sep 2018
perilous are those decisions
you haven't yet made
         afraid of the seed the tree
questions its own validity

inconsequential are those thirty minutes
before a decision
         the wind moves the branches without
the tree's choice

forgiving are those moments
in bed asleep beyond not here
         the tree can't spot failed saplings
without the daylight which lets them grow
quickie #1 is the start of other quickies which may might maybe not probably this is the only one possibly could come quickly soon later now often somber; quick. eeeee
Specs Sep 2018
I’ve been depressed all week
But she‘s been too.
She shares her coping methods
And she’s praised and supported.
I share mine and I get a single
“Nice.”

I’m the one willing to take bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To make sure I haven’t drowned
While lifting others so they can breathe.

At this point it’s not even them.
I’m force-feeding words into their mouths
As I watch them go about their lives.

I know that
They’re busy.
They’re tired.
They’re taking a personal day.
They’re working on themselves.
And I understand that.

But whenever
I’m busy,
I’m tired,
I’m taking a personal day,
Or I’m working on myself,
I’m there at the drop of a hat.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that maybe, just maybe
I need help too.

Irrelevant.
The delayed introduction after the
“How have you beens?”
“Fine and yous?”
“I’ve been great, I have this story...”
Minutes pass before I’m even thought of,
And by then I’ve excused myself.

I’m the one that’s taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes.
I’m taking you out and bringing you in
But I can only take so much.

I’m so desperate to be important to someone
That I don’t know how to be important to myself.
Even the saying of “one is sliver and one is gold”
Is unintentionally excluding.
I’m surrounded friends and their golds
But there are so many golds there’s not room for bronze.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that I give more than I take
And that I’ve given away my soul.

A sick feeling in my stomach,
But if I bring it up,
I know you’ll have it worse.
So I swallow my bile
And stretch out a smile.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I’ve made it out
Of the burning building too.

I’ve laid myself out as a doormat.
So why do I complain when people wipe their feet?

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I am
Broken.
I’m tired of meaning nothing to everyone
Amanda Sep 2018
Bruises on our broken hearts
Never completely go away
I do not know when we will start to heal
Days seem neverending, the sky is always grey

I will never again view things the same
Cradle me in stories one last time
Let me curl up, build a home in your arms
Savor your presence as it's only mine

Your edges do not match mine anymore
Losing sleep to make shapes fit
Trying to force puzzle pieces in place
Never thought I would be here salvaging this

You may not be prepared to end this just yet
Accept more minutes in time will not repair
Realize at this point in our story
Love is a word we used to share
It just doesnt feel right now. I still love you but I'm not in love
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