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Kushal May 25
Pity me just a little.
So, I can lie to myself that you understand.
I could do with a helping hand.
Jeremy Betts May 14
A new found enjoyment, not heaven sent
Still drawn to it like a moth to a flame

Don't share in my regret, promise to stay distant
I couldn't bare to see you in this much pain

Find me ambivalent to some extent
To take another step if it's in vain

Notice I'm hesitant to place a bet
L's stack shame on top of shame atop my name

Life itself's a debt, lest we forget
The plot and grave are one in the same

A dark passenger resident denise me residence
How did I lose access to my own brain

To myself I'm a threat, morality bent
Just so I'm not always going against the grain

Don't care 'bout bein' relevant, never permanent
But pain finds a way to remain

No clue what it meant is a poor argument
Would rather not waste time trying to explain

One day you might get it, wouldn't count on it
Strange to be your very own ball and chain

Go 'head and attempt it, see no safety net
You WILL become one with the terrain

Flesh and bone, neck and neck racing to pavement
Then witness the insane riddled membrane

Always defiant, against my better judgement
Probably should have stayed in my own lane

No deterrent to embracing my inner deviant
A full embrace of the profane

Won't seek atonement, least not at the moment
I only wish the only option was to remain

There's a death certificate, a signed suicide document
The growing black mark on my heart is more than a stain

So here I sit, trying to make sense of it
Unknown, alone and forgotten out in the rain

Selfimprisonment, a life sentence recipient
The issues with my DNA, infecting every strain
Jeremy Betts May 10
Enjoy the mocking tick after tock from the clock as the hands race monotony just to land on a preoccupied spot, no over shot
Reality not taught, reason is a subplot, lost in translation was the caveat, what's the grand plan for this life span time forgot
Avoiding deaths cousin, the sandman, only shortened the journey to the grand finale at the bottom of a grave plot, a hateful fate fought
Thought I ought not move to avoid falling through the bottom of all rock bottoms due to the dry rot, a quicksand sandbox in back of Salems lot
Rescue or recovery a long shot, no one within earshot but there's an onslaught of inner dialogue piercing the void like the scream of a red hot teapot
As is common with the distraught I sought help from the cold embrace of a slipknot that grew taut through the progression of this thrown together plot of a should've been cancelled pilot
Don't ask me what I see in this blind study of an inkblot, any sanity you got would crumble if caught up in the web of nightmare fuel my own mind went ahead and brought
Forced to boycott my being, can't connect good story lines, lost a dot, popped a squat in a thousand watt recliner like a pre-programmed self destruct robot
Self-preservation an afterthought, miles out to sea before I realized I've not yet bought a yacht, treading water in a tough spot
Messed around and got so high I got caught in the sky like a drifting astronaut lost in space, tethered to a dead cosmonaut
A crackpot juggernaut of supreme disappointment, walk the walk and take a potshot at a what not to do mascot
Cross my i's and dot t's with the underutilized comic sans faunt that don't nobody want, awoken by the taunt of a witching hour haunt
"**** the record and **** the people!" like you heard from Snot, you'll probably be hearing it from me a lot
Before I become a forget-me-not long forgot but go or stay, either way, still dangerous as a traveling blood clot
The good fight was not fought, this life was not sought, everyone seems to have it together, I'm the biggest have not on the block
Do with that what you will, I'm going on a long walk down a short dock with a giant rock in each sock
Then the plan is to mock god to his face and see the shock on his face as I say I could do better and see if I get the morning stars spot

I mean, why not? It's worth a shot
Tatum May 8
Finally doing laundry,
It’s been two months.
As I sit and I fold,
Careful not to leave wrinkles,
I can’t help but think,
How many more times will I have to pick up the pieces?

As I drive in my car,
Careful to go the speed limit,
The wind caressing my face and arm
As it blows through my windows,
I feel the melancholy sink in.
How much longer will I ache for what has been?

It’s sunny and the warmth radiates downward,
Embracing my body as if to say “Welcome back”.
I can finally feel it again,
My skin is a part of me,
Something I can feel.
How many more times will I lose this feeling?

I’ve spent weeks in a chemical haze,
But not one of my doing.
My brain had once again said “Too much”
And shuddered to a halt,
Spinning out on its way to a restless place.
How much longer will I suffer this fate?

Everything is different,
But it all feels the same.
I’m coming back now from a tiresome journey.
A blast from the past,
I am still exactly who I was four years ago.
How many more times will I lose my sanity?

As I pick up the pieces,
I can’t help but wonder,
How long will I exist in this cyclical race?
When they gave me the pills,
They gave me a life sentence.
How much longer will I last in this unstable state?

Unfortunately, I know.
This is a life sentence.  
I will always be at the mercy of these highs and those lows.
There will be reprieves from time to time,
But it will always crumble once again. So I ask myself…
How many more times can I pick up the pieces?
MARS Apr 25
On a busy day,
A floor unkept.
“What’s this woman doing?”
Said Mr. Baker Brett.

With no delay came she,
Hair running below her knees,
Cleant the place
And served him his morning tea.

The innocent kid
Stood in the aisle
With a face devoid of smiles
And fiery eyes.

The struggles of this woman,
He dare not say!
He made a fist.
When the clock struck eight,

He picked up his satchel
And looked at his sister play.
She received no formal education
And was to stay that way.

The struggles that she may face,
He dare not say!
He held his anger in,
And walked away.

Time will pass and
His beard will go grey.
To his curious daughter,
What will he say?

That she ought not
To get educated?
To be slave to an unknown man?
He contemplated.

Wild wild, rage. He must
Burst out today.
He shook off the bad dream
And so will they.
This poem is set in the long nineteenth century. An innocent boy, born in a male-chauvinistic society, feels the inequality around him. A child’s empathy towards women is dumbed by society when he turns into a man. The child in the poem wishes to change this scenario. He has high hopes that he will initiate change in the society and that the society will change.
Alio Apr 18
Click, hold, pause…
Click, hold, pause…
Resume —resume—
Watch               —
    Watch            C
        Watch        O
            Watch    N
            Watch    S
        Watch        U
    Watch            M
Watch                E
   ~Disgusting  —

Click, hold, pause…
yuyu Mar 28
Looking down the ground,
I stare at the bright lights,
Alone in the dark night,
Alone in my 5th floor apartment

The cold breeze greets my skin,
While the heads greet each other down the city,
The night is as bright as the day,
Even when the moon is hiding under the thick fog

Ting! I said I’ll text you back, but I never did

I wonder how they interact,
Because I’m only in no contact,
Only my dark room calms me down,
As I don’t have to hide from anyone

Ting! I said I’m busy, when I’m in bed

The outside is loud but why is it quiet here?
The cars are honking, the music is screaming,
But my wall bounces it back,
Just like how I push people away

Ting! I said I ran out of battery, when I ran out of energy

Maybe I should take it slow,
So that I can follow the flow,
Just like how the moon starts to show up,
To face the bright busy city

I stare at the moon in the empty sky,
Even when it came out from the fog,
I wonder why the moon is alone together with me,
Why? Do you also push those stars away?

Ting! I said I’ll text you back...
when you struggle to text people back...
JR Taveras Jan 28
I drive and drive and drive
Down this dimly lit road everyday
My tires anxiously roll down the poorly paved asphalt

I never know what’s ahead of me until it’s arrived
And when it does, I steer through and around the perilous obstacles
Obstacles that never seem to cease or give me a break

Fear is constantly in my ear, pleading for me to pull over
But there has to be light at the end of this dim dim road
So I drive and drive and drive
Eloisa Jan 20
I am exhausted by strength today.
I’ve often pretended to be a mighty oak fighting the storms
Often fought the strongest winds while standing there in the open
Alone and compelled to fight
My wars, and most of the time theirs
Bewildered and forlorn
Glorifying the oak in me
Yet I have always ended up crooked, scarred, and broken
Unaccepting to the message of reality
That there will always be lulls and long despairs
And a lot of battles that you cannot choose
But will still try to find someone
Who’ll help me gather the fallen sticks, my gnarled and withered twigs
To create something beautiful
While I find again my quiet strength, my calm courage amidst any storm
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