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Shadow 18h
The days are grey
and the nights are cloudy
I am lost in this monotony
Never learned how to live without this cloud in my head
Got a script for the doctor, tells me how to live
Never wrong, never right, why is everything a fight
All work, no play its the same every day, every day, every day, like its Groundhog Day
Need a break from the monotony its gotten me
Twisted in the head like a knot
About to trip and drop
Never asked for help, now that's a fallacy
Honestly, on my hands and knees for someone listening
But when I look into the sky I start to daydream
Head in the clouds, I make distance from the screams, hiding behind my dreams while I leave them only as dreams its easy to see Why
When we die there might as well be nothing
We can't treat eachother right here
When right here
And now
Is all that really matters
Shadow May 10
Each day is the same;
Wake up
Eat worries for breakfast
Headaches for lunch
And anxieties for dinner
Then sleep your self loathing away
Right until the morning comes
This monotony will drive me insane
Ahnaf Apr 14
Her eyes ostensibly dreary,
her melancholy stride
fell as gently as a dead leaf in fall.
To me, it is no surprise,
There was no way I could know her mind,
but I never thought to try

I'm a run of the mill guy,
waiting for rain to sedate
this blistering heat of a midday in summer.
My nerves rattle my calm,
and later today when I have my lonely supper,
I will remember to unhinge myself,
for it has been a busy day,
full of bickering and monotone machinery

No I don't hope anyone was by my side,
least of all her,
What would I even say?

I do not want to ask about her day,
If anything, I would sink into a pool of shame
Screaming for the drowning jingle jangle of cafes,
the silent companionship of an ashtray,
but a silent person like her is anything but.

These evenings go by with relative ease,
I slip under the rug thoughts that should cease to exist,
although I think about her sometimes when I sleep,
I've found there is a comforting distance, between life and fantasy.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 27
A couple jogging in the park
Can't seem to schedule in ***,
They pass the plight
Of an overwhelmed trashcan
With indifference.
Some have too much,
Others not enough.

A young mom
Pushing the pram,
A young snail
Pulling its shell,
A bird on a wire
Watching both intently,
The call of his stomach
Shall prevail.

Love and doubt,
Apathy and duty.
A checklist of options
Lost in the quicksands of time.
Pick one to share,
As if metering off infinity
With a yardstick.
******* the hour.
Confuse the day.
Create exotica by building
Interest in offshore drilling.

The well run dry,
What's left to strike
Rests inside the mind.
The second hand cannot remember why
She must constantly move like a shark,
And so she settles to sleep,
Forgetting who she is.

The couple in the park may run
home to make love in the shower.
The trashcan may finally
Be relieved of its anxiety.
And young mom, snail and bird
May find continued purpose.
But when asked what time it is,
The clocks with amnesia
Will only be able to say,
"I don't know."

I can no longer see past the smoke.
Life is a heartbeat
Inside a cage of fear.
What we don't know is terrifying.
What we do know is even more so.
Autumn Fyre Feb 4
All that kept her going then
Was to look forward to when
She could finally go to bed
With the Nightmares in her head.

No Horrors that plague the night
Could compare to those of her life.
"Truth is stranger than fiction"
And Reality worse than dream strife.

The minutes ticked much too slow -
Or maybe her heart beat too fast,
But either way it seemed her life
Wouldn't end and wouldn't last.

And so she counted on the days
(Or rather the phases of the pain).
Time went on and yet stayed still;
No change took place to make Time real.

The Woman found she couldn't tell
If she had died and gone to Hell,
Or if Hell had come to Earth,
Though neither place could be worse.

At last sweet Death heard her cry,
As her grave seems to imply.
Or maybe she is wandering still
Tied down by her twisted Will.
I sit alone and count the hours
numbered as nothing - nowhere
an endless trail of strangled minutes
wrenched from my fingers

I drink alone the lifeless hours
swirled along the drain of time
a rushing draught drunk as worthless
wrung from my fingers

Alone I watch the wakeful hours
mocking as sleepless I lie
whispers of slumber mine to grasp
drift through my fingers

I am alone in crowded hours
confined, conformed on all sides
until all the colors of my self
drain from my fingers

Who is she, I who am alone?
Once I knew - I thought I knew
now I'm told she is not me, she's
pried from my fingers

I sit alone and feel the hours
numbered as nothing - no one
these hours of dying, they say are sweetness
but how the hour lingers
M Grant Teague Dec 2019
Sometimes I smile being the thorn
Of the self-righteous and first born

Not sorry to ruin a few moments.
Stolen seconds from swollen swine
A brief pause gained against their gnaw.

Yell your yodel of a young victim
While your cup runneth o’er
And you greed grows

Forgive me for my moment of misstep
I feel so foolish to consider my value
In equality with the self-centered fool

Clearly here is the treasure
Your dreams of monotonous money
The perpetual pit of possessions
The incessant itch of inflation
The ceaseless clawing for cash
While I cluelessly cling
To dreams of art and time.
Ed C May 2019
we start the day again
as though sleep is just a memory,
the wheel keeps spinning
ka? ha
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