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A Simillacrum Oct 2018
"I will beat this," I swear.
No one else has,
as there is no end,
but there must be an end.
I'll find it.

Watching everyone spin
on their axis,
touting their progress,
there must be a someone
or some thing!

Watch me spin.
Spin and fidget.
Watch me spin,
spin and fidget.

Spin the blades
to your right.
Now you're loading. Now
you're spinning.

"I will beat this," rings obsolete.
Now, "I will secede,"
seems pragmatic.
Is it romantic to
be at one with nothing?

Cross legged on the floor,
I whisper,
to myself,
"Oh,
         you
                 bet."
Simplicity is not often with me,
For I am constantly spinning myself
Into a labyrinthine web of words.
(It's a problem - the spinner in my head
Cranks out WAY too much thoughtful thread.)
But I know how pointless it is to live this short life
without openly sharing my truths,
So, full of ambition,
I endlessly aspire to keep the door open
To this messy box.
So I wade through the mess
Collecting anchoring chords,
Endeavoring to weave them
Into an elegant and refined tapestry,
Ready to be presented to you.
One that says,
"Ever see the sun as the star it is, hanging in the sky?"
"Imagine giant glaciers bowling over these plains,"
"What's stopping us from staying out all night?"
or
"Let me list all the ways you are a beacon to my spirit",
"Please tell me about everything you love,"
"I look forward to these moments with you every other moment."

But that's always, like, way too much.
10.17.17 Inktober prompt: Graceful
Rules: No edits allowed
Poetic T Jun 2017
I could do tricks with those fingers
balancing acts of precision breath
was controlled for this moment.

One false move, and that moment lost,
sighs were heard, head shamefully hung.
As I would have to start over once again.

"OK fingers don't fail me now, I rotated  
getting a rhyme, I heard the excitement
as she released her ecstasy on fingers.

I was her fidget spinner, fingers fine
tuned to do those tricks to make her
world spin, she fidgeted in ecstasy.
Gavin Barnard May 2017
As a poet, an emotional wreck,
And a suicidal human being,
True love to me is
Forcing my hand through my ribs
And tearing my heart from my chest,
Settling it in your hands
And expecting you to keep me alive.
It might be slippery from all the blood, and its probably gonna start stinking cause of decomposition and maggots, but if you drop it its not going back in.

The worst part about three AM is that I'm hungry and I gotta be somewhere tomorrow. Finally evolving from a NEET into... Idek whats next.

— The End —