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TheIdleOwl Aug 29
47
The beers are flowing I'm winning all the bets,
The barman's sat on the frame throwing out cassettes,
A couple of Yakuts come to me smoking a joint,
It was so poorly rolled I had to press down on the point,

Excitement buzzes around about this rave in the jungle,
When in walks a man with tattoos all over his knuckles,
He hollers "Hurry up guys the taxi's coming in an hour"
The DJ adjusts his aviators and turns the music up louder,

I look up above the trees,
And it might be because I'm high,
But the stars sparkle like a million possibilities,
Exploding across the sky,

We're rattling in a Mondeo, no light but those from the front,
Khmer music drowned out by the creaking of the rust,
The driver hits the breaks we arrive in a serenade of sand,
Our English too fast for him to even try to understand,

We're here in the jungle and there's a ferris wheel,
And a stage made up of abandoned automobiles,
A carousel that'll set you back a couple of Riel,
The whole thing just feels so ******* surreal,

I look up above the trees,
And it might be because I'm high,
But the stars sparkle like a million possibilities,
Exploding across the sky,

The sky is full of stars but there's no sign of the moon,
We head to the back by the glistening lagoon,
Share the powder and lace it into our beer,
Clink cans and smile, down with a cheer,

I bounce from chat to chat,
All smiles and hope,
My spirit is soaring as everything,
Spills from my envelope,

As I look up to the black above the trees,
And it might be because I'm high,
But the stars sparkle like a million possibilities,
Exploding across the sky.
Tekan Jan 2
Strangers that reunite
In a dark, smokey room
Held in by vibrating walls of delight
No rules, no restraints
No wongs no rights

Covering one nostril
I inhale snowy white
Excitmeant kicks in the back of my throat
Leaving my speech tight

No need for words
No need for fights

Passing along the peace pipe
We all breath in the night

And as high as a kite
We take off, into flight
A heaving dance floor
Getting ready to ignite

All tuned in
To Friday night
ys Nov 2017
wardens trying to catch the running thoughts… here and there, snakes become ladders.

jailbirds of a different kind, pink and yellow trunks, see-through vests. they're way too many, they can't be numbered.

parole impossible, behaviour mad… drinking spirits and each other, in equal parts. pink dogs with zebra tails, fetching make-believe bones lost amidst psychedelic sunflowers.

thoughts helter skelter, in the tiny vastness, where only grey matters. bright flashes creep in at the bat of an eye, the hazy images of the outside world.

'em wardens are back, logic loaded in their guns. six rounds, a million too few… but now the dogs found something to chew!
gibberish... and not
wendee mcmoon Nov 2017
I walk down the street, my hair messy
My makeup sliding off
My sweatpants riding low on my hips, dragging on the ground, collecting dirt
And a low cut tank top.
Tired, exhausted, worn out. Unattractive. And that's okay.
What's not okay is when a car slows down and yells
"Hey pretty girl! Where you off to?"
I freeze
Attention is not something I'm looking for
It's a bed that I'm seeking
A good night's sleep
But instead of a bed I find
A man
Yelling unwanted compliments out of his car window as I walk back home.

Should I answer? What would I say?
Should I be honest? "I'm going home. Off to bed."
I know what the response would be. "Can I come too?"
Or maybe I can say "I'm going to see my girlfriend."
I don't have a girlfriend, but for the next five minutes,
She's right up that hill, waiting in her room to see me.
No, his response would be "That's hot! Can I come too?"
Or maybe I have a boyfriend instead.
More effective.
More dangerous. More of a threat than a girlfriend would be.
No, to that he'd say "He's letting you walk by yourself?
Must not be much of a man. I bet I could take him in a fight."
Which brings up many more issues
(i can walk by myself if he were real he would respect me so thats more than you do if he were real he wouldnt fight some random ******* over me treat me like a PERSON god ******)
That I would not want to address with someone as dangerous
As a man telling me I'm pretty out of the window of his car.
Maybe I can say "Please leave me alone." Being direct is always the best option.
Unless he continues to follow me.
Or gets upset.
Or refuses to leave me alone.
Or gets out of his car or pulls me into his car or or or
I don't know. I don't want to think about it.

Or maybe I can just keep walking.
Ignore him, act like nobody said anything
Act like there isn't someone I have never met in my whole life
Yelling out of the drivers window of his car
Telling me I'm pretty.

There is no way out of the dangerous thing that is the male gaze
Once it begins
There is no easy way out.
Written for my Intro to Creative Writing class--the assignment was "Write an imitation of [Gregory] Corso's poem ["Marriage"]--rant and rave about your own fears."
helena alexis Sep 2017
she met molly at a festival
molly made her happy
molly made her dance
molly made her forget

we’re gonna be best friends forever
molly whispered in her ear

she popped another
forever and ever
she replied with a smile
took molly at a rave and decided to write about it
A politician with a radio
and a fridge with a ****

as he spoke pidgin
and dapper the reason

that captured a signal
but stayed the season

'twas a gowan too
in stead brown hair

as a bride in favor  
yet deposed his table

though a granita now
will disguise his inference

yet detest his deference
in ridge there a pidgeon

flew his message away
and pearly was his religion
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
Spectrums to sound waves.
One infinite pulsing heart.
Synth to love you so...
NeroameeAlucard Jun 2016
What can you do if your own head doesn't make sense
the silence maddening to sit through and the cacophony of every day leaving inside your mind an unholy stench
It feels like there's in my head next to the iPad a ******* monkey wrench
I guess I don't understand anymore what's going on why can't this make sense
Unless I write my head will snap open and the scars will be visible
But sometimes even among most of my friends I can't help but feel invisible
Ridiculed and the things I helped bring become dead and forgotten
God it's like I'm listening to myself give a review on that site with tomatoes that are rotten
I'm not scheming or plotting just looking for that lighthouse in the fog
Because I can't find inspiration in this mental planet of smog
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