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Fireflies May 2020
There was a time when she cared
To satisfy any need of yours, she was prepared
You gave her just enough to stay
And stay she did everyday
There was a glimmer of hope that she will receive love back
Every song related back to you, every soundtrack
One day, 3 am at night she laid there
Room dark, status of you being online a glare
She watched it switch offline, realising you never replied
Finally it ******* hit her that to be her lover you were never qualified
Males are only useful if they are fertile
Men are trash was not just a insta post, it became a lifestyle
If liking men was a choice
Trust me when i say i would have yeeted the boys.
So sick of tired of men that i drafted out a whole poem. Enjoy ;)
Rupert Pip Apr 2019
What is your masquerade of moving pictures now
that you’ve landed screen down on the floor?
Will you keep your mask as tied to your heart as you keep your cards close to your chest?
I’m beginning to think you don’t even know what lies beneath it anymore.
Would you recognise your own broken skin?
Lines naturally painted to your face?
Curves on your hips?
You were begging for so long to become a work of fiction - how does it feel to not exist?
To have become an echo of toxic vanity?
You filled in all the the cracks for all your followers to see
But now they see them all
As your world shatters
screen down on the floor.
In a world full of characters created online, what would happen if it all went away?

- Part of a project I’m working on.
Brawlstarsmann Mar 2019
There are things called chromebooks, and they are like laptops
but they have one small difference,
they can fit in your bag,
they can run offline,
they can by used by schools,
they can be monitored,
they are cool
they are lightweight
they are good-looking
and most of all
they are fun to use
this is something close to my heart, so I like it
Mary-Eliz May 2018
I think I’m having withdrawal
With HP now off-line
They say BRB and ASAP  
but it’s been an awfully long time

I’m anxious to get back to reading
To see what you all have to say
If it’s not back soon, gonna open some wine
Oh heck, I think I will, anyway!
I had forgotten about this from over the weekend.
Mystic Ink Plus May 2018
When I am about to log in
That remind me  

Never did,
I write before
About the human gallery

Here I have
A decent group of people
Who stays skeptic

Let their
Charm prevailed
As an unveiled glory
With the virtue of silence

To me,
Everyone here,
A limited edition
Inside the gravity of wonder

Enjoyed your presence
Always you will be, as
An epitome of decency

If it is real.
Genre: eXperimental
Theme: Silent Friends  |  Carefree Strangers   |  Online/Offline
Kuvar Mar 2018
This is the story
Of a Truck driver
Who never stops driving
Unwillingly he lives on the road
Hoping he will find love in motion
He wasn't looking to love someone else
He is searching love for himself
And at the same time
He is running  from feelings
Running from the hurts
He should be told
He carries it on every road
That head that tells him
O! Truck driver
navigate left away from tragic street
For twenty four years
And yet today
He is still driving
Hoping the road will teach him
To love himself again
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Silent friends
Carefree Strangers

Genre: Haiku
Theme: Then, nothing matters.
Antino Art Aug 2017
Some people climb social media mountain
and post photo of them on top for all to see.

I just be chilling phone-off on third floor
apartment porch,
walking down staircase to ground level
down sidewalk
beneath stone high rise, winter sky,
gas station coffee in hand, face buried in non-face book
about those sleepless mountain climbers above.

I cross street as they tread slopes like high wire walkers,
and I'm walking onto this train as they make tracks,
breathing in the Views gained from the heights
to which they've climbed as I yawn
on subway car underground and recline
unseen beneath hoodie,
them racing to the top
and me coasting south, still in book,
flipping non-web page to next chapter
of them turning to look down at the crowds below
and the tracks they made
as if imprinting their story in the blank pages of the snow.

My stop arrives,
so I tuck away book unfinished in backpack
while they hike onward up Facebook wall
and continue stamping marks on snowy phone screen in darkness,
as I brush past them on street level thru city night unnoticed,
and their eyes squint back in pursuit of the likes of me and the gazes of strangers the morning they return from king of hill conquest, welcomed by followers of their stories waiting to be liked and loved.

The likes of me walk on back up to third floor apartment,
book shelved,
dreams of mountains blurred in the chill
of morning fog on the window,
in the freeze of internet page on the. screen.
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