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carry burdens over your back
the burdens tired and you are still in lack
of asking for help or articulate how is your back

suffering from bearing that gravities that must sack
your dream in honorable life and smart  frontage
you ****** bad luck, they said you merit to attack
the life is full of burdens and pain. wo could suffer it, will win
Bryce Aug 2018
And now there would come a time
a swift sharp clock on the bed
Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells
Like an angry little arm
Charming if not for the alarm

And everyday I slap the face of it
Like an unwanted *****
And she is silenced
Quick unlike
Said chick

But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry
Nor cool or heat
There's nothing bothering me

Time just ticks off and I laugh at it

But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men
And yet I am not called upon them
Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts
No masterman
who failing to raise his hand
Clams up
With such poor artwork

Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan

Now In San Francisco
Where the alley streets stink of ***
And the European facades are just that
And full of ****
And what yet are they dreaming to be?

The church that survived fire
Great conflagration
God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that,
Now did he?

He's a water-sign
And water only jolts your mind
When it scatters true light,
Ain't that right?

But it's all the same
Just different hues
And the news
Isn't new
Just Blaring and yelling
And speeding television crews
Riding their stories
Up and down the many stories
Trying to build a city of angels
On a bituminous hill


No life skills

And I walk the city streets with a ugly old leather
Casing the joints and rolling my own
Unhappy and alone
Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet
And he has no road

While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air
Going god knows where
Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball
Perpetually trapped in the machine

How bout Nippon
Or Hangujin
Or Han Chinese
Or Berlin
Anywhere but when
A little ways along the state
Of "in"

All these strange things
let the gawkers
make haste
may thier
frozen clay


clung teardrops

my depths deaths
shall they swallow
birds admiration

that an bird would ask it's wings
why it it you choose
to feather me
tickle me

ask let why
that my flesh be

say not
let the gawkers

what are these words
never forced to swallow
what bird from flame
oh feathers

cling me her to these shadows
what dare

she came with inscense

howl to me in misery
oh moon with pleasures beams
soak through my flesh

her lips
blowing calms
through the palms

inspiration wrapped
Luke May 2017
There was a woman from Iraq
she had a wonderful sack
it dragged on the floor
all red and raw
and now she's got a problem with her back
To my long distant Iraq friend
Eleanor Rigby Dec 2016
Skinned ghosts and spilled ink
In a sack of flesh
My very own.
Poetic T Jun 2015
I undress her slowly, pink tones are seen,
As all the bits are taken away, undone I am
Pleased. I see her now what I saw early that
Week, dam I know this is what I thought,
What friends said I'm in for a treat.

I run out of breath, before the fun has begun,
She gives me that looks like I want to ****
Some one, she is inviting me deep in.

I want to feel her mouth vibrate across me to
Make me ***, but first I want to play with
Her and have some fun.

She lies still why I do what must be done, she
Doesn't mind what I say ***** talk, ****, what
Ever will get me to the finish line, dam this is fun.

I go slow, lubed up she is wet for me, i go faster
I think I'm going to, OUCH I fall out friction burn
To the mushroom, eyes water I check no damage,
I get off wait a few moments to continue the fun.

I think it is time to do what must be done as her
Mouth waits on me, I start I grab her hair, faster
She says with her eyes I know, ******, ****** as I
Skull bash her, O MY GOD I,M BBAANNGG.

I cry out as a tear reaches my eye, in to the bin she
Goes, that's the third one this month. I think I'll
Have to find a real woman that doesn't explode,
Or go flat just when I'm reaching the end of my goal.
Poetic T Nov 2014
I walk among the living, screaming
"Help me"
"Help me"
Cold breath for a moment is felt
I can't touch, feel,
With the meat sack,
"What am I doing" they used to be us,
But they think living is hard
Try death,
Like a new born, colour bled
From what's perceived,
An aura is exhaled  momentary existence,
Moments as if a memory expelled,
In death there are some things worse
Than when you wake up deceased,
There were plentiful others walking
"With those family"
"Still looked upon"
"Never to close to scare,"
"To bring forth the cold of despair"
But then it happened,
What was a non existence,
Brought forth from a nether tear,
To consume an aura to pull it within,
The screams of silence
Fear not seen since death awakened,
"This was extinction"
No aura
No rebirth
No nothing
Consuming the dead, to breach the veil
What was it for to get out
To let something in,
I hide in this sack, as if hiding in a wardrobe
Hide and seek in the living,
"Shudders of the flesh concealment breached "  
Hide within the living, for they hunt the dead
There is no life after death, we now hide in the *living..
The dead now fear..
Xan Abyss Oct 2014
A swirling emptiness within.
A burning void.
Chaotic darkness.
The fires of hell burn in my heart.
My broken heart.
I loved you too hard.
And it burned us away.
So now here I am at 3:00am.
With red eyes in Vegas.
There were too many things.
And too many people.
And your good nature was too highly rewarded.
Enough to make you flee.
To scare you away.
Run you away.
Burn this bond into dust.
And watch it blow away.
I know that you're gone.
I feel it in my soul.
I miss you.
But you've moved on.
And my heart ignites.
Like the veins of a fiending ******.
Or the City of Gomorrah.
Struck to oblivion by God's Wrath.
Because I know you're gone.
And the fire's warmth has grown to an inferno.
An incendiary maelstrom that consumes my every impulse.
Because now you're gone.
My heart burned you away.
And you vanished once again.
So I'll just be waiting here.
With red eyes in Vegas.
More sad sack poetry from the past.

— The End —