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Harley Hucof Jul 2020
It is from your synthetic relations that i learn
what to make of, and how to observe
the traumas that once occured.

Transformed,
Translated into words
To lighten up the burden
Of the destiny flowing in my nerves.

Chosen for me or impregnated
The path is created
Before the men that walks it to get mutated
Together in your synthetic relashionships.


Words Of Harfouchism
Aliens are the new religion
Saint Audrey Apr 2019
Simple life, lived as a vintage television set
Ornate, one of the few luxuries exclusively for the well off
Useless.
Kitschy
A banal dream with pleasures devoid of an iota of venom
In a construct, a forsaken place, a planet without form
A perfect encapsulation, almost a replica
Of status, a microcosm
Head in the clouds.
Soul in the blood and bone
Desperate, claimed slowly by unrepentant chunks of flesh
I see the breeze on the horizon, sweeping through the fields

So I
Wake up

I never expected. It's not something I asked for.
But I rise all the same.
Once more, one more story to add to the pile

And as it turns out, I found the cure
Deep within the growths sprouting, and the sick smell
To rise once more
In the conclusion of it, I was an island to myself, but I felt at peace.
As my boots strike the sand, and my heart sinks a little lower
The pinch doesn't feel quite as real.

I could take some dedication to the facts that remain, as a claimant
Vigor worn to a shaggy pulp, my lungs crumble in a wave of synthetic dust
The scorn faced, the harsh lights shone on me, the blistering heat...
Unforgivable, as any reasonable man might conclude
I absolve no one of anything, but it all slips further from my mind, day in and day out
If I want it too or not.

To be so sure I'm awake...
How crazy am I?
The whole world breathes, exhales, in a layer of grey smoke, that soon condenses into clouds to shade me personally in my inaccessible fantasy.

The whole world's slipping further into those muted, docile gray shades.
A whole symphony of colors for these starved eyes
So hollow now...
Along barren halls, I'll run my fingers, across the faces of dead, rotted saints and take my gratification
In simple motions, drinking in the vibrancy, all the intricacy bleeding through the mock notions of simplicity

It didn't feel real then. I remember it all, in vivid detail
In those few moments, though branched and snaking through the tunnels of my fleshy wiring
I didn't feel anything.

The pinch doesn't feel real anymore
I can touch the sides of the sink.
My fingers, with gentle pressure applied, can sink into my skin
It only seems to matter when I touch it...

I stopped bothering doing it, a long time ago
It slipped from my memory
Virginia Kasmi Jul 2017
When your body temperature so high you're burning a hole onto your bed,
but still shaking because cold storms constantly crawl down your whole being.
Hugging yourself trying to hold everything together,
But every single bone hurts,
like you've been running a city marathon.
My throat dry and swollen,
failing as I try to speak to myself.
I reach for a glass of water,
powerless I moan and tears which seem so cold and pleasant run down my face,
as I realize I'm all alone,
always been, always will.
With all that's left from me,
I try to catch the big red pill on my table,
it hurts while sliding down my throat,
I close my eyes and fade
away..
toots Dec 2016
Our late night conversations
that turned into good morning's..

The songs we shared when we were bored.
The concert you promised the details of..

All those don't go yets you used to give me..
Were they all synthetic?
Were they all fake?

Were they all just candy you cook,
So girls like me fall for you?

Do you even hear the songs you said you do?
Or do you just make them up too?

You told me to wake you up.
I did, and you never said a thing..

So that was it?
That was all it?
No nothing?
No goodbye?
At least show me my mistake,
At least tell me why?

I miss those messed up, sleepy laughter
Before we said goodnight .
Being ghosted on *****, especially when you like them for who they are..

Alright, I'm just going to cry at the corner
Duke Thompson Jun 2016
lonely chord tired guitar play
soul numb as callous fingers
heart hollow as sea rusted string
flat wrought steel,
peeled off tire
fire face melted

fleeting garish glimpse of starch shirt 60s
itchy lice life like gene spliced flight patterns
bioengineered space age

Han Solo with (hold) full o'Spice
Synthetic Cannabinoids sprayed on Marshmallow leaf ruin life

Chewie grab the bowcaster, ill grab the glock foe blaster
Smash, mash and crashed'er like Britons of Lancaster
trash i wrote drunk
I will never understand this feeling
It's a feeling of worthlessness, is it not?
I will never understand its emptiness,
Though I know it too well
Dare I say, I want to fall in love
Again?...

Would It help me to understand,
In ways I can no longer?
I'm aimlessly placing blame
(I don't feel real)
The tip of my finger repelled by,
The denial in my heart

How can something so heavy
Be worn on a sleeve?
Whilst the skin on my body,
Would tear at its seams
I am the worst of all things

I am man-made
Sadly I feel as though, not made to last
And sadly so, I'm afraid to know
I may never make it past,
This feeling

Two months now it's eaten away
It's not a chemical reaction
There will be no half life here
And more than half my fear,
Lies in a reality where,
I can not be free from this

It's a feeling of worthlessness, isn't it?
I am an apple eaten to the core
No
I am the pips spat out
...and forgotten

I just want to be carried away
I want to be more than man-made
I just want to be Finley, Finley again
Where can I look when I'm only trying to find myself?
MissMalice Jan 2015
They keep themselves alive
Just to die more everyday
In a world that will not listen

Able to be pulverized by mere phrases against them
Able to be fragmentized by even that of themselves
Their lips , their skin , they taste of sin

And their eyes become the looking glass
In which only reflecting that of the ****** past
Conceived in poignant everlasting despair

And when their dreams have come to end . .
With what do they fill their emptiness ?
With what to they but their happiness ?

To fragile to exist
Disciples of this game
Choking on depravity.

No love , No loss
A particular set of songs inspired me to create this .
Designed to stand metaphoric for those with depression .
Something along those lines anyways .
Conor Letham May 2014
I ask if you want to
escape
when maybe we're only
synthetic
bound together by the
wire
slipped between our
skins
filching at each other
inside
these metamorphosis
cocoons,
waiting for one to come
outside
of our shelled carbons
nearing
the brilliance of the city
lights
as though slops of rain
dancing
off of tall windows was
like
the sky setting itself on
*fire.
Experimental with two ways of reading and a focus on the word 'synthetic'. Was originally spaced for the singular words however formatting on here won't tab spaces. So, close enough.
Silver Lining Apr 2014
It's funny
How a simple black line,
A pigmented powder,
And a plastic line glued to my eyelid
Can make me feel pretty
Makes me feel presentable
It makes me feel like I'm worth something

But even so-
It's false.
Synthetic.
It's all a lie.

Oh how I wish I could stop lying.
I don't feel comfortable leaving my house without full make-up, no I'm not a 'cake face' I don't plaster it on. I wear it simply, but I still wear it.

— The End —