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Jon Thenes Sep 27
one more crime against nature
and we’ll scuttle her completely

we’ll prove,
beyond any song
beyond a doubt
that we do not belong :

we are our own thing
and we shall brutally remove ourselves
from “the plan”
B D Caissie Sep 9
Your devious gossip purely insecure driven. Whats worse is people actually listen.

Your mouth spews forth a relentless chatter. Friend or foe, I’m quite certain the latter.

You believe that your inside my head. But I’ve faced the monsters under my bed.

You know I’ve dealt with your kind before. I’ll scrape you off and leave your **** at the door.


©
Jaxey Sep 1
Loving you
Is like a moving train
I could jump off
But it would be painful
And I just
Don't
Want
To
I don't wanna get off
Amaris Aug 31
Feel free
Message me
Anything you need
I smile mechanically
You know better, see
I never take opportunities
I feel lonesome hands approaching mine
to walk me through the desert.
I tense my arms against the open night sky
which cannot be pushed away.

I want you to love my grey skies,
my pensivity that rolls across mountain ranges -
the same to me as sunshine igniting streams.
Just a different lens
through which my creature plays with light.
She is elemental
and sloughs skin off the earth like lava flowing
into the ocean to close its eyes.
I'll eat my own tail
to discover what I already know.
My inner voice is speaking to me,
telling me to give up
On all the paranoid things that has been happening.
Feels like I'm a feather
Left upon to drop
But the wind is stubborn
not letting me to be in the place I'm supposed to.
I'm struggling ,suffering
But incapable.
Incapable of being my own,
And to be, where I should.
Feels like I'm a feather.
Tony Tweedy Apr 10
Often when I thought myself wrong it was then that I was.
Admitting you are wrong gets you onto the path of being right again so much sooner than fighting against the notion.
AuEcologica Mar 25
Wayward off you go towards where your feet take you
Wayward daughter, wayward son
To the end of the world, we go
Towards the edge of soil and liquids
To the end, we go.

Stubborn deceit,
                           love is a foreign air—
                                                            ­ we become the clothing we wear.

Wayward we go, to imagine our immortality;
to our sorrow; to our horror; to our heartless core, we found nothing more.

If our fate is to climb to the stars, a rule must be set never to forget the dirt, from which we were born. We become the clothing we wear.
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