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Serena M Aug 2019
I remember posing for you on the boat, long gone now
The city tore it down and we
Failed to keep ours afloat

My hair was blonde when we first met
Starving artists living on a prayer
At Timothy’s we congregated for coffee
You saw how I was so young and jaded
I felt my heart beat like a butterfly
My soul stopped and stared at yours, without knowing
Whispering, “This is fated”

Long before we both got sick
I whispered to you in your bed
“You don’t know the difference between
A kiss and
A Pin-*****”
Little did I know then,
I was speaking
For myself, as well

On the darkest day of November
I ran to your side, of course
I sensed
A disturbance in the force
I preferred the devil I knew
To the one I’d never saw

I had demons of my own, under my skin
No time to get caught up in
Someone else’s sins

“Throw me a bone
I’m caught up in a storm
Of my own”

Knock knock
You were there
When no one else
Listened, understood
Or did me any good

I thought we were good

II- Stockholm Syndrome

You showed me a love I’d never known
At the time it felt almost enchanted
Our poison made us take it for granted

I got to run away for a while
I always liked your impeccable style
Your charm began to blur the alarm system
We walked mile by mile
Further than I had
In my twenty-some years

And then, came the tears
My third eye lost it’s sight
When poison coursed through veins
Crying as the sun rose into light with disdain
“Lay down my fists
Here comes more pain.”

Help me! I’d cry
As I lived out my lie
Every needle plunge exclaimed
“You’re gonna die.”

I would sink into
The living room rug as hell opened up
The devil sneering “we’re waiting for you, buttercup”

I would try doing less
Then the bedroom was a mess, then the bathroom
Every room was prevailed
By doom

Poison to flower;
My soul was devoured
Once your wild rose

I slowly began to decompose

When I looked in the mirror
“Alana” had disappeared
My body simply a host
For lost souls,
Hungry ghosts

The war had just begun
You shut the large blinds
Said to me without looking
“You are not the sun.”

I think that was the moment
I realized I could not keep you
Or your heart
Any longer

I sat on the bathroom floor and wrote
I stared at my arms for hours
Sore, bulbous in areas, scarred
Bruised, yellowed like a sick yew
I noticed
My skin has began to redden and peel in lesions
Trees losing leaves, changing with the seasons

Cigarettes, stress, drugs- Psoriasis
The dermatologist told me in her tidy office
The best part
Of that day
Was catching the bus with my little ticket
Pulling my knees in, and listening to sad songs peacefully
Whimsically repeating the dark melodrama,
The things I believed in-
That I was in love
That I was miserable
The things that felt safe

What I feared most was dying alone and in pain
But the worst
Was yet to come

Time passed
By April I had been fired
Because mine had burned out
Taking too many sick days
Originally out of anxiety and lack of social adaptiveness
Breeding into
Pure hedonism and sloth
You hated that
You were so ill
You wanted money to keep going (and eventually die?)
Or perhaps you wanted me, not to give up on myself
You never said so

Your presence dwindled
I spent my last $3.50 on grapenut ice cream
To see you
To be with you
To share something with you
You were there but you weren’t

I started thinking about suicide as it began to build up
The weight of the lies, the drugs, the empty
The dog’s sad eyes and your self-neglect
My credit cards were maxed
My arms were a minefield and my legs,
Looked like a very hungry caterpillar had chewed them up

One night you broke…
I found the courage to speak to you
And you said I “had started all of this”
When I “had began staying with you”

In fact: I had come to your side, my best friend turned lover
To take care of you.
When I was 20 years old

I ran off and bawled,
Harder than I could ever remember
I felt my heart break in my chest and cried harder
You yelled my pet name and said my cries were cute
You taunted me
You were a mad man

(That I saw as a baby boy, somehow)

You never slept with me in the bedroom anymore anyway, so I set up camp
I had my supplies
I had my spoon
(the little one) and then
When you would amble around
Take off, leave me
I’d get into your concoction
In your not-so-secret hiding spot
(I knew our apartment like the back of my hand by now)
It was on a dark, stained wooden bookcase you’d had for years
Placed up high, out of sight
But never out of mind

Every shot at this point
Was a “shot in the dark” ...potent
A ****** up sort of Russian Roulette
Dancing with a devil that only
Pretended to care

I don’t blame you for resenting me
And I think it goes the other way around
I had to go, and you had to move on

I wonder everyday how the hell my heart is still beating
This is a piece about a very traumatic and self destructive time in my left. I wrote this as a sort of closure as I processed things.
Karl Gerald Saul Aug 2011
Nasasabi mo pa ba na "Kamusta ka?"

Sa dami ng mga kung anong bagay na iyong ginagawa?

Nasasabi mo rin ba na "Kailangan kita"

O hindi na dahil sa makasarili ka?

Nasasabi mo pa ba na "Masaya akong kasama ka"

Sa kabila ng mga problema **** karamay kita?

Nasasabi mo rin ba na "Ingat ka ha"

Sa araw araw ng pamumuhay mo, ako kaya'y naaalala pa?

Mahirap intindihin at masakit isipin

At sadyang nakakabobong unawain

Na ang taong minahal mo

Ay siya pang mananakit sayo
I have no MO....
No particular methodology
I just dream things up
Add a sprinkle of psychology

Season with similis
Macerate with metaphors
Emulsify with emotion
Then get baked... Real high

Let the words cool
while my soul
starts to drool
then I present it
to the night.
Bona Sera, boa noite, bonne nuit
(alternately known as the Doubting Thomas Crown
Taj Mahal Cupid Affair)
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -   -  -  -

Fortunate (for me) thee bona fide "FAKE" Cupid
(aka Decoy Donald Duck
and side kickstarter Jay Rad,
colluded donning one alias,
which (former and latter)

amounted tube bing disguised incognito
as the cingular "Ivan Ha Bea Robber Baron),"
while same above placed
their System Of A Down on high alert
whereby, they unwittingly, fortunately,
and accidentally discerned disquieting "noise"

i.e. static electronic crackling
purportedly from nemesis, asper sans above
whereby broadcasters colluded
confusingly, congruously, and convincingly
as thee infamous digital (duplicity)
faux "Big Mac" Trump.

The chalkboard scratching, hair sprayed bouffant,
and knuckle crackling
appeared tubby the handiwork cleverly disguised
(as tinpot dictator antics of Moscow's version,

sans Putin on the ritz),
which decrypted garble (a fluke) as iterated above
strongly emanating via polygamous,
prestigious, and pseudonymous
pull no punches ploy

innocently convincing feigned
duo code named "Ashley Madison and Bert"
disclosing (when uncovered),
a heartless conspiracy in concert

with Sesame Street studded lesser known Muppets
pretending tubby oil tycoon Bedouins
intent to fleece "sensitive"
top secret military defense contracts,

which Russian motley crue ace double agents
intended this act of espionage thence sabotage
feted as a Black Sabbath Lupercalia feint
not for the faint hearted clubby fete

where Cupid given free rule of the roost
allowing, enabling and proffering
Cyrillic chattering Cherubim

hook cooked United States "figurative goose"
lock, stock and barrel, which stratagem
captured president unawares
and did significantly boost

Eastern Bloc reconnaissance (on par
with the Philadelphia Eagles
winning 2018 Super Bowl LII
which surprise clenching championship
wrought frenzied hoopla, gala, and bacchanalia
where barenaked ladies

cavorted nsync with beastie boys,
whence City of Brotherly love hoopla found
nearly every man, woman and child ******
(analogous to each person garnering
an early Sainted Patrick's *** of gold.
fatima Jan 2018
'wag mo kong kalimutan'
mga katagang sinambit mo
habang pinipilit **** tanggalin ang iyong kamay sa aking kamay

'wag mo kong kalimutan'
mga katagang sinambit
noong panahon na ang mundo natin
ay nagtatagpo sa isang segundo lamang

'wag mo kong kalimutan'
mga katagang nagpaikot sa atin
na ating pinaniwalaan at pinagtibay
ngunit ang tadhana'y mapaglaro

ngayon ang katagang ito
ay winasak tayo
pinaiyak at dinurog
sa isang segundo lamng

ngayon ang katagang ito
ay isang uri na lamang
sa katagang nilimot ng ating panahon
at kinakalimutan  natin ngayon
Sethnicity Nov 2016
I'm merely a poet
But you may think me a rapper if I didn't note it
I'm made in moments
I design the riots these words are my pilots
I fly them into structures that lack cognitive diets
I'm like cons stuck to your Feel it Try it Cry it
When you're cursing in the car
seeing red
grab a cigarette
light it
I am here to recreate
the con template
make more meaning behind your quite riot
when you remember how to be great
swinging from swings
singing songs of King Kong
monkeys playing on strings
When mondays were not monotony
growing older into neoteny
has this gotten to thee?
You take it in threes,
Speeding tickets, Deadlines, and Rotten Trees
keep on keeping on
vote on voting on
Can't change the country without cash, fears, or blood
Que Sera, Sera humans ride the carousel of DUH!

I should Detain my thoughts many deem insane
let them germinate with time attain more circular grain
I'm ready for hand over hate for a steady gain
I'm ready for self worth over wealth a cure for the pain
I could light myself on fire and yes one man can
How long can we malnourish the heart and ******* the brain?

y'all don't wanna be free
just wanna get poor quick
Sell your soul on FB
a phat horse chewing the bit
while you eat the virus
that makes you sick!
"I am not a rapper"
but I can wrap it up in a split

"It's Just US for tray bomb"
if not miseducated in Lit
"Eyed Diabolical, My necklace stripped"  
You can steal this message in a bottle
as I bleed out this ****!
I'm merely a poet But you may think me a rapper if I didn't note it!
Just my observation of Monuments and Movements and Revolutions people all over are crying out for change. All I ask is that you consider the whole when you wanna act out. Knowledge is power and power decays until the powers in the hands of the people who change.
The last lines are phonetically subliminal... "ie "(It's Justice for Trayvon) (If I was seen as notorious, My neck lays.. Drip
{killed with my throat slit})
When white men spit hatred through spiteful lips,
what will you do? Will you raise your fists?
When a white man kills a black teen without blinking,
will you turn from protests to riots without even thinking.
You want to prove something?
Prove that there is nothing a white man could do to break the black community.
Show that you will never fight fire with fire. Keep MLK alive, let him live in your city.
Beat hatred unconscious with love, and drown it in peaceful protest.
For, Mike Brown's death was only a test.
Just a feeling I get, being a minority.

— The End —