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I wear a mask and i wear a smile,
I stay awake and i find a place to hide,
My eyes are sore and my soul bleeds
Want to leave it all and get back to sleep,
Sleep where my brain stops
so that i could stay away from all chaos,
Complexities had mended my soul and now its full of dent and full of bruise,
My life had turned into an inevitable cage which is driving me crazy and inducing the rage,
I try to keep the balance in my life but
It feels like running from my darker side,
The demon inside me is embracing this fall
Cause he is getting control of my every cords,
I can't cope up with these negative thoughts and this is turning me into a sociopath.
I have written this poem after i saw Joaquin Phoenix's joker.. I was so impressed with the film the i thought to write some on it..
Mark Toney Nov 4
kudos to Oscar
every best picture ever-
Hollywood Haiku
4/28/2018 - Poetry form: Oscar-ku - A combination of Oscar and haiku. Kudos to fellow poet Kim Rodrigues for coming up with the name. Cheers, Kim! - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
RhettlvScarlett Oct 2018
A Roman poem written before The birth of Christ, inspired the title Gone With The wind
with Scarlett and Rhett Butler

But here you see only old
confessions of a man's true love for his beloved who is all gone
(Or a woman's true love for
her beloved runner wishing she could have chased.)
Last night yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! Thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
  Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
  When I awoke and found the dawn was grey:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! Gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
  Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! The night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
  Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

By:Ernest Dowson
All rights reserved

Ernest Dowson (1867-1900) died of alcoholism at the age of 32. His downward spiral began at age 23 when he fell for an 11 year old girl who would spurn him at 14 when he proposed marriage.
The following year, in 1894 his father died from an overdose. Dowson's mother
hanged herself within a year of her husband's death.

Soon after this dual tragedy Dowson left for France before returning back to England in 1897. Curiously he lived with the family of his unrequited love. Penniless, heartbroken and filling the empty voids in his life with alcohol, Dowson would spend the last six weeks of his life in the cottage of the Oscar Wilde biographer Robert Sherard who had found him
drunk in a bar.

Speaking of Oscar Wilde, he wrote after Dowson's death of a,"Poor wounded wonderful fellow that he was, a tragic reproduction of all tragic poetry, like a symbol, or a scene.

I hope bay leaves will be laid on his tomb and rue and myrtle too for he knew what true love
unrequieted love was."
Rhett Buttler might have married other women but he never stopped loving Scarlett his true twin soul.
Wyatt Jun 6
I put on such a good act,
or is it really called that?
I am so convincing,
where is my Oscar?
I love how it feels
to get that satisfaction,
I'd do almost anything
to keep the attention.
Like is like a movie, huh?
Slightly Lovely Feb 2018
Be yourself
There is no one else
Be who you are
and say what you feel,
because those who mind don't matter,
and those who matter don't mind
And I don’t mind

I guess I Shouldn’t
cry because it's over,
But  smile because it happened
It might overcome the sadness,
But i never quite escape the nostalgia…

How do you live,
With these broken memories in your head,
And happy feelings in your heart?

No one ever listens
How do I move on with the weight of my past on my back,
The comfort so welcoming
I always cry
Over the things that don’t matter

Hiding the hurt,
hiding the pain,

Hiding the tears that fell like rain…
So long ago, and yet,
Time is weird in my head
Nostalgic feelings
Cassandra Vale Jan 2018
a young warrior fulfils a dream,
one on one combat, and his foe
folds like wet parchment.
a wounded musician, has his back
even as the javelin impaled
in her arm (her spoils)
drips with life.

the clatter of a die.
a number announcing if she survives
is softly reported

[or how Oscar’s help was neither wanted nor needed, thank you very much]
This is part of a series of vignettes from my first Dungeons and Dragons campaign.
Rajas Nagpurkar Jan 2017
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.

Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.  

Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.

A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of  rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ******* of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
Charlie Wonder May 2016
Our love was forbidden by  chains of tradition.
We didn't keep it hidden cause of my  intuition.
I wanted to paint the town.
Never was an outlaw.
I bet your dad hates me,
from which the look I saw.
Let me break it down.  
A bunch of old racists.
Change every word I say,
I'd never change places,  my Faith is where my fate is.
My color is Dorian Gray,  I'm forever in style.
Don't believe me,  better ask Oscar Wilde.
He said there's a demon behind every picture perfect smile.
When love is chained to myth's and legends it shall truly fail.
AM Snyder Feb 2016
And just like that, the two most impossible things happened.

1. We were over
2. Leonardo DiCaprio won an Oscar
AM Feb 2016
burn your playlist to an empty CD
wish I could just burn our memory
here I lay in my room, all lonely
only got you in my mind now, baby

I close my eyes, imagine you in your car;
smoking, driving further, driving so far
meanwhile, I still wish for the last falling star
patiently, like how Leo waited for the Oscar
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