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Sugarless ideas sleeping furiously
Wake my every week badly obviously;
No sugar, no sweetness comes to me kindly,
I am just rolling my days down tastelessly, blindly.
Still life may be silent, may be violent,
May be a green sight, may be a street light,
May be the nature's scent, or maybe it's cement,
May be moving, or maybe it's never evolving,
May be repeating, may be remaining,
Or maybe what's still is just an idyll
And life is not meant to feel,
Just to fill, fill, fill...
Until life's still.
Sugarless ideas sleeping furiously
Wake my every week badly obviously;
No sugar, no sweetness comes to me kindly,
I am just rolling my days down tastelessly, blindly.
The genie inside the bowl
told me of his lowest day eighteen fortnights ago.
The day he did not feel like a genie.
He awoke yet his eyes cried for the return of rest.
The one wish he could not concede
plagued his mind.
He did not know
how. He could not bend
the rules of time
to fulfill's the most human
desire which is to wish
to never have to wish
that the present day
was not a bad day.

Like the transaction
between a poker dealer
and the man with no fear
in his eyes,
we barter with life on a cyclical game of poker.
Sometimes the house wins,
and it hurts like a thumb tacker.
A pair 2s is so inconsequential against
as fate doing its thing.
No genie can stand in the way
of life happening.

The genie in the bowl
told me to make the most of this low day
happening, go on a stroll,
to take care of myself
and recognize that today is just a bad day.
Perhaps tomorrow will be better,
in the meantime get some sleep
and to try again tomorrow.
The genie in the bowl did give me a wish. Now I know how to recognize a bad day.
Not a literal genie.
LK Aug 22
Rolling rolling down the hill
Don’t worry tomorrow again I will

Trudge trudge back up again
Through muddy slopes and pouring rain

Maybe the next time I won’t slip
dig my feet in, get a grip

Or if I roll back down once more
I’ll trudge back up through mud and pour

One more time and then another
Leaving tracks on top the others

Further further down I’ll fall
’til on my knees I’ll have to crawl

One of these times I’ll make it through
Or down I’ll fall and fade from view
everything is so messy,
i feel this aching pain when i'm at home, and when i'm out with friends i feel lonely.
my mind feels like my bedroom, a right off.
sure, you can tell me to clean it and i can try,
i can want to clean it but no matter how many times i shove that ***** laundry back into a pile; and no matter how many times i throw everything out,
it all comes back out sooner than later. i crave a tidy life, i tidy mind and a tidy room, but it's so hard to keep up with.
i would rather let sleep cradle me in it's gentle arms for the rest of the day, and do it tomorrow.
though, tomorrow never comes and thus my room and my mind stay the same.
a vicious, but comforting cycle.
i like it when things stay the same, i like it more than i should.
all i've had my whole life is change,
now i find comfort in static, i find comfort in knowing what's going to happen tomorrow.
i find comfort having routine even though the cycle i'm in is destructive and makes me hate myself, it's hurtfully comforting.
that doesn't make any sense but here's something that might,
feeling something is better than feeling nothing
negative or positive
maybe that's why i stick around you.
you don't help me clean, if anything you make even more of a mess, but that keeps the routine going.
i'll clean tomorrow. then turns into tomorrow. then tomorrow. then tomorrow. then...
it's the complete opposite of sweater weather,
and for once,
i'm enjoying it.
feeling the hot sand between my toes,
the contrast of the cool waves lapping at my body
as i soak up the sun before i get in,
the all too familiar smell of sunscreen,
that lingers all the way home till i shower off the salt
that formed onto my skin.
the routine that i get into,
clears my head,
making me relish the remaining time i have of it:
the sweet smile of the waitresses once i order my coffee,
already making more plans even when i'm out of the house,
posting pictures of how great i look
without the crippling pressure of school
that weighs down my shoulders.
truly, i don't know how i manage,
when the time eventually rolls around to wear sweaters
Chris Jul 28
9 to Five

No sleep, real talk, my years behind me daily on the hunt they stalk me into today throughout each passing tommorrow its left me bound by sorrow so be honest with yourself as you read these words as if they were bound by fate in a book of broken memories soul restrained sanity entertained by necessity for survival but my nights release facts, my hand guided by pen dispensing sound through words of lost years lived in fear as I write blind-sidingly haunted by my own sentiments living bound safe in lies to avoid my demise I see this in our eyes gotta get wise and reverse the clock its ticking counter-clockwise but still pressing foward dressing my soul for a journey toward Who, What, When, and Where so thanks for the thoughts but I've been Here and I been There the fabric of my life has suffered its share of tears as surely as any other smiling by day crying by night I wanna give up n' just whiteflag this fight but this fight is life so despite being sick fearful of strife..

I turn my eyes to the light. Blind me, bind me, find me, remind me..

That I too once could love..
But it fell apart..
Heart unbound I wanna scream but can make no sound..

Gotta face the light..

I gotta stop this fight..

I will live and do my best to give but on the last day whenever it may be..

I wonder..

Would I relive this life again as myself..?

...Or perish the thought?

Alarm clock, ticktock, guess living this way is considered "alive"..

Off I go..

To work my 9 to Five..
Meghan Jul 22
I am change
And the opposite of change.
I am the turbulent turning of the tides
And the repeating rhythms that hold them in place.
I am the relentless forward march of time
And the regular rotations of a clock.
I am the frenzied lunges of a caged animal
And the immovable bars that keep it confined.
I am perpetually in motion
Yet I am confined by strange laws and forces beyond my control.

I yearn for freedom.
I am enslaved by the grooves that hold this roller-coaster in its blind orbit.
I am exhausted by this robotically rambling train of thought that never leaves its tracks.
I am weary of this winding waterway that chases its tail in a helpless cycle,
That only leads inevitably to the same heights of hope and depths of despair.

I want to wander and know that I won’t simply return to where I began.
I want to write a new story where I do not already know the ending.
I want this story to have a real absolute ****** and real absolute resolution.
I want to break the machinery that has fused with my heart and brain and spirit.
I want to hear the scream of steel and hissing of wires as it is scattered into lifeless fragments.
I want to hear the roller-coaster’s final chuffs of protest as it grinds to a halt.
I want to know that it is finished and I am only beginning.
I want to live and know that I am truly alive.
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