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Dakota J Dawson Feb 2018
Drown and bask in the sunlight
Forward unto God
He is sinful

Made for the weak man
He is a cancer
Disgusting scorn of prudent woe

Always showing up
Like "BurgerKing"
Uninvited, not liked

Boring and yet sublime
Where does the confusion end?
Does it include a "Happy Meal"

Pop culture is tiresome
Tripping and stepping into territory
That is unknown, yet still familiar

Why can't it end?
The division and condemnation
Condensed to pitiful morality

Each case moronic
In design and fashion
Seeking an identity

Plotting to overthrow
The status quo
Implanting the negative flow

Stereo is doomed
Electronic in psychology
Dead to the depth
camps Feb 2016
i look up and see the light

and the IV that drips w/ Red Bull injecting me and keeping me alive with (liquid) Die Antwoord pumping through my veins. The doctors and the nurses with their coats and bourgeois manners tell me I won’t be able to even remember my name. S/O to the Surgeon General and Cuban cigars. Styrofoam cups in a sterile prison, there are rats for that besides, the tile looks too expensive for me to scratch at with my PlastiDip nails so I pull out my P O L A R O I D to take a snapshot of the moment and make sure to take the time to filter it with my favorite shade of Ray Ban®

left the underlined blank empty at the front desk and called myself an ÜBER so that I can hit the melodramatic streets that glow bright with neon and shiny Magnum wrappers before I cover myself in a new age burka that reeks of Louis Vuitton and automatically nods at fretful ghosts. Featherweight, yet polite, the stream of particles surrounding me takes the shape of an Ibanez and is starting to soothe like VIX. This world is a Technicolor pixel that has just shattered, yet I could trade an Android for a KitKat bar and still be able to tell you what the electric sheep are running from

it’s just like that time back in France where cigarettes burned my nose and you were scared of dying. If you had asked me, I would have told you it’s not too bad, everything in your brain turns to ecstasy - but you wouldn’t have it. That’s the thing, you’re more concerned with those cross hatched squares of metal on your teeth than the privatization of water so why should you remember that while purple rain is nice to look at, it burns the skin? Instead you looked at your pencil sharpener scars and said “paint me like one of your *****” but last time I checked, I only carried lint in these pockets, at least that’s what the Hospital said, so if you really wanted to, we could go back and connect the dots

i look up and see the light

and the IV that drips an elixir that tastes just like Heineken…
no no no. Sign my afterword with a kiss and your sweetest remarks


& don’t forget to smile at the trees

xoxo
an ode to the modern age
Trevor Blevins Feb 2017
Trading your morals for a supporting role,
Holding hands with upstart actresses while you hold the syringe
And swear this is all genuine.

This emptiness is the feeling of fame,
Waking naked on patios used as makeshift churches
Where the last of your secrets are sold for another half gallon of limelight.
Emily S Aug 2016
Don’t think too much
About forbidden touch
Or legal abuse of such
Little creatures like dairy cows and fabric workers.

Don’t feel too much.
The homeless man with his crutch
Can disappear, hush.
Turn your head dear, eat McDonald’s chicken fingers.

Don’t love too much.
Why on real people crush?
People slip through your clutch.
As flashing lights reanimate Rihanna, both your eyes close the shutters.

Our world distracts us from seeing,
Persuades us we need a break.
Deserving one after a day going nowhere.
Turn the TV on to the latest ‘Bachelor’.

So loud. So loud. So loud. Too loud!
I shut my eyes from the too-bright lights.
I need to escape the escape, to find solace.
I put pen to paper and hear its whisper.

Poetry softly roars while TV screams shrill.
You’ll remember the written words for time
Degrees of magnitude than you’ll remember
(consciously) that singing cat meme.

Real love takes more effort
Than a heart reaction on Facebook.
Writing truth takes longer than re-posting.
Yet I want to share myself, not another gif lol.

Mute the volume for a second.
Can deaf ears hear again
the music of
the pen?

Think too much.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2016
My hands fidget.
I will tell you when I see you that
my fingers could break when I speak,
loose from the chicken wire houses that pin them to nail holes
no one sees and my words could snap
with them, straight down their spines.
My hands fidget and my tongue trips.
One day I won’t be allowed to see your eyes, your eyes when the sun hits them and they turn green, your eyes when they're blue, when you're being real. Or both.
The sun is in your eyes and it's setting.
I think I could be the moon,
we could meet at every eclipse,
create our own lightshow in the sky or make them notice us just for five minutes,
the kids sat on steps behind the sports centre,
I will tell you when I see you that you are so ******* smart you could ruin the world with it, so why can’t I tell you this, so why can’t my hands stay still?
I want to feel the way my mouth tingles when we sit, you murmuring in my ear that you could spend all day here,
alone with the indents of each other's lips.
I guess if we ruined the world I wouldn't even feel Numb, the Nirvana song.
My hands fidget.
Recently I stuck a sticker over my fear of death to try and be as brave as you and now I am Nevermind,
I can't feel a thing.
My tongue sits still when I try to speak about thinking and when I think of losing you I see Topcat, Pink Panther and this time my mind trips over itself.
I chew my lips and the corners of my mouth close.
I can’t see in the dark like I can’t breathe when I see cartoons like I can’t see **** when you say we need to talk like I’m scared of the ******* dark so please walk me home.
You find my hair bobbles at your house and I'm sorry that that last one wasn’t a metaphor.
I imagine the space behind your closed eyelids looks like a dark place at 3am where you exhale smoke.
I imagine the space behind mine is inhaling, coughing and static in the form of a thousand headlights blinking
and
it burns.
My hands fidget.
You call me out and it sounds like my brain not being able to hold itself still, I can't,
I can't stop fidgeting under those blue-green eyes.
When you tell me you love me my fingers stay still.
When I think it's loud like nerve endings screaming at me god-**** react like
controlling hands, interconnecting veins jumping from wrists,
hazy.
The stuff of nightmares where you say I don’t trust you
but I know that your hands on my wrists would not,
do not,
burn
like that.
I will tell you when I see you
I will not wrap you in chicken wire.
I am writing to tell you that when you speak my hands stay still.
I am trying to say that nothing snaps and my head is
quiet.
Trevor Blevins Mar 2016
Your Marilyn Monroe face is coating me in nostalgia.

There's old school Hollywood appeal about you that's keeping me still and set in my ways, because how could I be mobile looking at the iconic images of you?

For you gave me refuge from my purgatory, I'm stuck here in my bedroom, your scenes each carefully curated by Billy Wilder or God...

I've heard you're a dying breed but you're so full of life and charisma.

Oh, I know it's hopeless,
But it's been remastered time and again,
1080p being the latest format to get my heart racing,
Letting your DVD spin to the point of exhaustion.

It's very consequential and I'm still betting on this,
I can't take your word as gospel when I feel you in my ribs...

I'm painfully asthmatic and respiring on your sighs.
melli7 Jan 2016
think Piggy
in Lord of the Flies he'll
tell you what's up about glasses
(before he dies)
although Betsey Johnson could maybe say
something too judging by the frames
she wears to complete her hair 'do
myopia mangles sight but will
never extinguish
light
Norman dePlume Dec 2015
We met at the bar and I formed a new band
With their feet full of tar and their head full of sand
Yes, I got a desert in my toenails,
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
1 - Oigăn
2 - The Beach Boys, "Don't Back Down"
3 - The Rolling Stones, "Sweet Virginia"
4 - Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias"
Phoebe Seraphine Jan 2015
Blondie is true blue, wrapped in plastic,
tied together with a cherry pie on top.
Enter agent, in the mood for ****** or
dutiful doughnuts and coffee (**** fine.)
A saccharine soprano sings Roadhouse
while a log teems with secrets only
owls observe. The one-eyed recluse draws
cotton ball curtains hiding cinereal skies
that saturate such opaque peaks.
The giant speaks of a small town tempest.
Magic rustlings in the Black Lodge
bring on the dark dream, a wobbly man
talks gobbledygook like a VHS tape in reverse.
The fire they speak of is not fire, but sometimes
her arms bend back. Bitter BOB ballroom dances
with a too cool for school, sock-hop-hopped-up
babe in a red room, redrum romance.
Has anyone been on earth the last few weeks?
StuKerr Jun 2014
Yvan eht nioj
Boy bands, even cartoon ones
Obvious evil
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