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He tires with certainty,
Locks himself away.
Turns into a ghost,
Disappearing for days.
A cup that is empty
Waits for time to heal all.
Surrounded by noise and
Feeling so small.
A buffer is the night with
A new given chance.
For him to recover
Then rejoin the dance.
Maxim Nov 20
i gave to you my love
my loyalty
i opened my chest and let you crawl inside
you made it your home
i took the brunt of you
and still you were not pleased

i gave to you my all
every last bit
until there was nothing left to give
or to keep for myself
because if i did not
it would harm everyone around us

I was the sacrificial lamb.
i chose this life
and now that i am out
i can see how important it was to you
to have someone to hurt
it saved you from letting everyone know
just how horrible you are

but i cannot continue to sacrifice myself
i have a life i need to live
and i cant do that when i am dying over and over again
by your hand
i am setting myself free. 3 years of hurt to recover from, but i will do it
Boris Cho Nov 20
As I navigate through life, I am increasingly aware of the deep connection between living and dying. Each moment serves as a reminder that everything is temporary, urging me to seek the truths within myself.

Facing the possibility of death due to two brain aneurysms was a turning point for me. The thought of having only a one-third chance of surviving surgery forced me to confront my fears directly. I realized that death is not merely an ending; it can also be a gateway to something new. This experience opened my eyes to the importance of embracing every moment and the love I share with those around me.

During my recovery, I reflected on my life in a way I never had before. I encountered vivid memories and emotions that mirrored my thoughts and actions, revealing the depth of my journey. I learned that dying is a transition, a sacred opportunity for change. With each breath, I strive to cultivate awareness and find clarity amid the noise and chaos.

I began to appreciate love and compassion more than ever, understanding that these feelings connect me to everyone else. My actions impact the world around me, emphasizing our shared existence.

I am learning to accept that life and death are part of a continuous cycle; a journey of growth and renewal. By accepting this flow, I have opened myself to new possibilities and deeper understanding. I have found peace in the realization that, despite the uncertainties, life is a precious gift that I cherish every day.



In the quiet of the mind, I find clarity,
Life and death intertwined, both a single path.
In the bardo, I encounter my fears,
Illusions dissolve as awareness arises.

Compassion guides me through the unknown,
Love transcends the boundaries of self.
Each moment is a lesson in letting go,
Embracing impermanence, I find freedom.

As I awaken, I see the cycle of rebirth,
In every ending, a new beginning unfolds.
With each breath, I cultivate presence,
And in stillness, I connect with all that is.

— Sincerely, Boris
we burned like cheap whiskey,
sharp, bitter,
gone too fast,
leaving me with the kind of hangover
you don’t walk off.
you were my way out—
or at least a hope,
a muse, a laugh,
something to hold on to
in this stupid, circular life.

but I was too much,
and not enough.
all my broken pieces,
all your quiet exits.
you looked at me like I was the problem
you couldn’t solve,
and I looked at you like
you could save me.

love doesn’t save anyone.
it guts you.
it leaves you bleeding out
on a ***** floor,
picking through the mess
for anything worth keeping.
I haven’t found it yet.
Ken Pepiton Nov 6
Few,
I know,
I understand, few living
or in legends that grew as
all things worked together,

to sort the plebs
from the patrician heirs,
do, or believe done, indeed.

Oldest deeds
to land grants
to the suppliers
of groceries
and entertainment, bread et
circuses, happy merry men making

**, **, **, and a bo''le o'***
or a jug o' cheap wine,
though to drunks not allowed
on Election Day, or on Christian Sabbaths…
under which conditions, persistant coughs,

forced the man
with a dollar wine jones,
into the local pharmaceutical corner store

for a dose of Terpin Hydrate and Codeine
signed for on Election Day, even
in Blue Law Counties.

Now, Terpin Hydrate and Codeine,
can only treat persistent coughs, in elsewhere,

so liquor stores stay open on election days,
making days after, hang over, asking
what was sup, sup
post understood,

prophesied after effectual fervent prayer,
to do right
by you

a mandate from heaven, a Cyrus, envisioned,
and presented to the horde arriving
for the circus, worship the story,
in spirit and in truth, as one believes,
one's own self authorized to lieve being

true as true can be, taken, as given
in answer, apokrinomai phonic Greek,

as first person present tense I am made
in the eye of any beholden to a tried spirit,

come to pay respects, we watched the show,
unmazing performance, unraveling the weaves,

we've all imagined praying prayers that work
miracles, witnessed, before our very verifiably
wedom minded oath bound souls dispiritings
virtuosi-like - sudden shifts in sense, presensed

we were
all in black and white, and 254 shades of gray,
and the idea's that Boolean signs enforced,
with weight of knowing > custom duty tax

for sellers of wasted time spent on old mechanics.

Mind tool collections, mostly hammers and grips,
a solid anvil and some super sharp hardies,

my legacy used to prove
real life interruptions, fires, and wars, and weather

none one experiences, none one frets or prays
to prevent, taking grace for granted, lets hope float.

Gnoshit, some old truthz remain true, bottom up,
down in the dirt is the seed of every actual need,
and forces intwined so fine, you never real ize
you felt,
fine.

Stretched, strings tuned to creation, breaking
glassonion speedborn legal reactions to reasons

used to train warminding brains, containing secret
whys called reasons,
for the hate needed
to **** with.

Survive a babble
Copy that, say curio-wise…
Whom do I owe
for my survival, so far?
Say you know, I'll say
mebbe so, if your ideal surviva-babble
possible ever, after,
alls been saids been done
and ever at all in reality
exists,
is there a place where evil is punished,
for being known
in all the common
ways we think, lies we believe,
should be taken to the forge,
to be reconformed, to the hardy hole,
needed tho, never needed knowing,
how iron sharpens iron, steel hones
the edge,
in mental wars weaponry,
phi phantasy spirals
fibbonacci saw wise
twist most simple, bending x
hex marks the spot, you see x
hale the used air, taken in nex t
the rest
of the story, shall we find an ai
to read us, or shall we read our minds
and act as if we are listening,
fretlessly to all the jazz
wrapping angstroms to pure joy

adding the idea of a slight smile
using lost peace to make some

good for nothing pure
evil, imaginary, mirror neuron firing signals
to the glands
from the guts to each
knot of knowing relaying response
to the noise - cries of havoc,

Tense butter better
be war-y
settle, that was then, this is now, roles
change minds, don't think mind's don't change

kinds of minds, even, whole categories
of minds, character traits, collected,
across a seventy-two year space,
two minutes on the Babylon
clock calendar whole truth
concept wagwanfyew duty  to reify
if I were
what we agreed, to let be we. the plural I,
weform the patterns we make, the paths
we take, the patterns we use to make sense,

swirls and x t o A pi the sign, >< whose to say?

sets change, pillars come
to seem
to hold no weight free thought
recognized mustabin wild

- remenants proving result
- recognizable mob rule following
- deme domes as above so below

So, domes do work,
tunnels work too, the problem is,
nothing to do, the Coen bros tol' you

and if truth were told, living words told you.

Mental exchange graces many breaths, deep
taken with intention, to think, commas, work

That was in the era after the atom bomb,
and before the repulsion from Dianetics, umph,
Voltaire's secret, written invitation to converse
with him, in his or any Wikipeadian tongue,
his conditions were my agility to define,
my own terms, peaceable,
for good reason
infection, will
to define my terms, wish
to have this magical mechanism
to hold this thought, and link
on that phrase,
to make a novel, a new

way
to arrive where life leads, when followed.
There has never been a press this free on the inside, public poetic pools of provacative creative vacancy where no war's reasons balance, ever...
Kamini Oct 30
All of life is calling me. The land is alive with wild blooms that adorn the hedgerows. Foxgloves mingle with campion, bluebells and buttercups. The wild dance of summer lifts my spirits as my body still aches from the recent prolonged winter she has endured. The scars still tender reminding me that healing has its own season, yet the spirit feels the tug of a new dawn.

In the early morning stillness the light softly caresses the petals of a freshly born rose and my heart is filled with the promise of new beginnings. Patience has never been an easy companion and Surrender even less so. How to let go and allow this dropping, this deep sinking into softness, into the sensual realms of flesh and bone on warm, wet grass? How to rest deeply in every moment as the wheel of life turns slowly and my fear clings to hope as she gently wipes away my tears?

Somewhere in the distance, breaking the silence, a baby lamb cries and I am reminded that I am not alone.
Through twisted bars of dark wrought iron
I see the shining golden home.
There once I’d been in my personal Zion
from which I’d freely roam.

But now I note I’ve lost the key
to this imposing gate:
I stand outside, trying hard to see
what caused this change of fate.

When and why did I turn my back
on this inner keep of peace?
How to drop the sackcloth black
and find a new release?

Now I must pull me up
and scale these castle walls
that I myself had built
before I took this fall.

For my sake and for those I love
it’s time to find my way
back to where sounds of cooing doves
becalmed me, come what may.
An allegory of fighting depression inspired by seeing Holyroodhouse Palace through its wrought iron gates.
Ramir Oct 21
Have i lost my sense of purpose?
I’m numb from all this wandering.
Have i lost myself in the process?
I can no longer feel anything..

I have all the time to ponder.
Though, I never look at the brighter side.
I’ve told myself that i’m moving.
Yet, my body feels unalive

The fragments that i started fixing..
As I see right through my scars..
I may or may not be healing..
I’ll leave it all to the entity of time.
You’ll make it
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