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Pat Villaceran Jun 2022
Sometimes the fondness
Of what we feel inside
Can't fill the void
Tragedy tries to hide

For we seem to long
For suffering, masquerading
As if it's happiness
We seek

But the irony's what's
Funny, 'cause the turmoil
Boasts of self-righteous

Where it's always someone
Else who is
To blame

And it's always us who's
Done the sacrifices
For the game

It's all nothing
But neediness, preparing us
To be accepting of what we ultimately are

Andrew Choo Jan 2020
We're all savages,
Salvaging for ignorant bliss,
Ravaging for a specific purpose.
Some seek religion,
Others offer passion,
But we render redemption.
But make no assumption:
They prey on the weak,
And pray to a god.
One who asks to talk,
But doesn't walk with them.
One who has a place above,
But saves face in the name of love.
Austin Heath Apr 2015
you remind of someone I'd know
in my dreams;
a strangers face made recognizable
by lack of initiative, or curiosity.
Impervious to actualization.

Confidence in nightmares;
reflective of shock-waves of Nagasaki,
mutants in our collective DNA,
monsters wading in the gene pool.

Atheists with superstitions.
A viral nihilism befuddled by
religious idioms and anecdotes,
held together loosely by
scientific mysticism
hypocritical moral

She reminds me that humanity is just,
"everything that mankind is capable of."
Builds complex doomsday devices in his head,
and plots to rule the world.
Meanwhile Manhattan project seeks
to either rule the world
or open it's

It pains me to write a puff piece
on hometown, love-life, hope/etc.,
yet I can wax lyric lusting for the apocalypse.
In this fashion, I can look into crowds
[sadistically romantic]
and tell them, aspiring to the Manhattan
in our everyday savage grey matter,
"We all have dreams in our hearts."
KT Feb 2015
Arms, legs, body and head,
you can not deny it,
we are just a plague widespread.
Across me sits this smelly man,
I see in him nothing but an orangutan.
I look at his face, look at his hands,
there is nothing more than a monkey in pants.
I try to think of how does he think,
but what do I know;
I’m written by the same ink.
Years and years, nothing but a lion’s purse,
now seconds passed,
we think we are masters of the universe.
A load of meat floating on a rock,
I guess we are lucky,
but we haven’t even learned to walk.
We hope and dream our dreams,
we want to achieve,
but everything is wrong when it’s not how it seems.
Everyone is a god, everyone is supreme;
When their belly is full,
everyone lives in his own dream.
But take away the feast,
get in their way;
Man becomes the most savage of beast.
We haven’t lost that jungle sense,
no diffrent than animals,
our population is just more dense.
But I guess we are noble in a way,
that’s the greatest irony of all;
Because I know how to say what I can say.
Ape does not know that he is ape,
he does not know the diffrence between an apple and a grape.
He does not even know if his own kin he rapes;
but for **** sure we should know,
that we are nothing but the next-level apes.
Morrison Leary Nov 2014
A town filled with degenerate and clowns,
where stars shine bright and street lights are nowhere in sight.
Drunken buffoons, swarming the saloons,
stirring up chaos with their little spoons.
Lost actresses turning into brainless waitresses,
the common conversation turning into nothing more,
than the gossip of your ever fashionable *****.
Stay too long in this dystopian filled town
and you'll find yourself growing old and bored,
dying internally like a cancerous plague,
waiting for the zombies to rise.
Not aware that the zombies are here, alive and well,
roaming the streets, ever so disguised,
make eye contact and prepare to die.

— The End —