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I don't want anything to do with this world.
Not now, not ever.

I yearn for eternal slumber;
Too wise for an induced end.

An end just beyond my clutches,
Not long left.

Air ever so heavy,
No light in sight. I've
Given up on reaching out and
Entering the

What use is it to
Hold on
Only to fall deeper?

Eve strikes as I
Lean my head against the wall
Undermined by the tar, gently bubbling,
Doubling in my heart.
Eating at my consciousness,
Slowly encompassing my eyes.
When will it strike this year... If it chooses to strike at all...
Praxis Shame Aug 2018
See where it gets you?
In the toilet bowl.
Open mouthed,
force fed remains,
gasping ****
instead of air,
grabbing at hair.
stop it stop it!

See where it gets you?
Wrapped up in business
never meant for
your energies,
fitting, in turn,
into crowded

Save me. Save you.
Save me? Save you?

Matter is finite.
I'm of it.
Build your empires.
Believe through the matter,
of course.

I pick myself up from the floor,
and sweep back my soaking mop.


I had a whole day
worse than tonight
just last week.

I'll enjoy my selfishness
while I can,
but thanks.
Jon Thenes Jul 2018
[Disclaimer : Collection edited from previous works for the purpose of competition.]

Notes during Jane’s night out
and its afterbathe.

Observe :

when your heart's beating overtime
you drool poison in your sleep
and you're looking down
on this wound of slaughter
simply turn your head
and repress the urge
for mischief
and laughter

Jane’s prayer of control

Observe :

becomes my Oedipus
Restlessness, my Vein
I spy from the Windows
upon the Exterior ;
It's Humid, Night and Rain
I pave my Thoughts ; 
all bark and froth
I Pound Drinks
It Powers tight my Bellows
I Hound the Clock
My energy thrives out a fan of nerves
I create an idea of what's soon to be
A plan of posable culture
forms flossy in my Tide
(as the Night Out steps up)
It Bites firm in my mind

I stride across the threshold
Betraying nothing
Of the Savage I've put together
Slough Suited in neat Disguise.

Observe :

Raw Meat and Red Teeth
I'm a Bow to the Moon
I Click over Cobbles
A Mad Energy
Bailed in my Stomach
I Task Myself
And Daring Prey to Cross the Tension
Strung on my Senses
All Hot Gut and Wire
I'm Playing at Being
A Wild and Mean Thing
And I am Dedicated to this Wound.

Observe Others :

The exclusive clubbers present their cards of invite
And go swiftly about the social wetwork 
Their practices and manners 
Interact and ply
Pulling teeth of the guises
Harvesting an inflammation of words
A baffle of tongue chorings 
There is an hour
There follow more
Whittling time
Taming code
Resorting to a little physical...
Then they take their leave ;
Prizes into the nights snare.

Observe My Racing Brain :

Let’s put Sleep to Death
And purify madness
We shall practice giddy boils of imagination
And quick lives could flare
Brief celebrities
Hastily added
To this new chattering evolution
There'd be little lung for morals
And sorrows would be swift experiments
Let's make all lives what they really are
Put Sleep to Death
And be recognized
As blurs
As shots 
As stars and spittings
Firing in this universe
This playground
This raw wash of activity

Observe my Near Miss :

memory fleeing ;
murrums over soils
stresses and seas
my colourless meat
mind down
hasty retreat
coma tones
my last retreat
failing the game
and foul on my feet

but then spoiled warmth floods back
my sponge reforms
but re-soaked
current again

Observe Hospital Stay :

Brighter than a new spawned sage
Appears to me.
It lisps of rest
And passes me its clay.
I foster a dent
And begin to draw my feed.

Observe my learning :

take a breath
expel a myth
pattern a thought
create an action
reset and repetitude

Observe a Single Step :

This is a Me
(hands indicate body that they are a part of)
A responsive sock of meats
flush with The Other
and stringy with Thinker

From The Other 
operations may be performed
Within this mix
a View dwells
this could be said
to be a Me

The Being makes
a physical step forward
A Me indicated that it ought to
and it did

Observing Spark Plug :

...and 'oh my God' did I cry
I sparked like I was made of knives
and it carried me
I was adopted
I was addressing reasoning
burying it fiercely and fare
pounding clay over it
and enhancing my surroundings
without trust
welled and sad
sick excited
a primal plug 
and this world had once seemed so borrowed, adolescent and unpracticed.
Elinor May 2018
she vomits
rough crystals
that scratch the interior
of her crooked throat
thorns that pierce
but that doesn't matter
because the
of the roses
they bear
is irreplaceable
and the stems wilt
and her mouth is heavy
from the weight of the garden
she projects
but it's too beautiful
not to.

he vomits
black tar
deceiving honey,
her feet
are stuck
and entangled
with the petals
strewn across the floor
the tar defeats
her rich
chrome spectrum of flowers
and drowns each
and every last
drop of her beauty
and self devotion
until she is nothing
but a mound of
black tar
and a
rolling in his
deceiving honey.
when the puzzle doesn't fit
chloe fleming Apr 2018
I've been breathing in everything I hate
Such as the smoke from fire that bellows beneath my feet,
It burns and it scalds and yet,
I do not learn my lesson.
My lungs have become airbags- deflated, charred
It hurts me to breathe but yet,
I do not learn my lesson.

I have been shown the sweet smells from the valley,
The honeysuckle kisses against my dried lips
But nectar is far more vicious than tar.
For it sticks to you like a bad memory
It will coat you in a sweet sickness,
A birth from a joyous hospital room
Honeysuckle kisses upon dry lips,
While they pump you full of the tar.

So while my lungs cannot heave anymore,
And my organs coated with depression
The nectar does nothing but upset my stomach
It causes it to wretch like a screaming baby
Lack of honeysuckle kisses fuels the fire.
I will continue to burn and scald my feet-
But I will not succumb to the iridescence
That will one day leave you sick,
And sticky sweet.
Allyssa Buenafe Jun 2017
I know that I have killed myself a thousand times in my head,
Never fully grasping the concept of leaving.
I do not know when the thoughts started,
I guess they've always been there,
Whispering and taking turns rotting my brain into the landfill of decay and broken thoughts.
No longer the pink fleshy muscle that sat presently in my head.
It had turned to tar,
Black and thick,
Suffocating the light away from the open cracks where creativity once flowed through.
Unfathomable, the thought of dying, ceasing to exist.
What have I become?
Existentialism is hard to grasp
Luna Craft May 2017
My voice is much more hoarse now
Whether from overuse or under-use I can't quite tell
As each word connects, the progression of my voice slowly fades
Like a shouting whisper I return to silence
Breath has become a dire marker in my attitude
Strangely it speaks like that of a slow moving drop despite it all
Calm and quite, as was I, as was the breath
Crimsyy Jan 2017

Nothing will remain un-inked;
Wounds bleed and
feelings can ****
and that is why
everything must spill.
I can't keep this pent up fire
caged inside my mouth,
the anger, the unfairness of it all
erodes my teeth.

Your medicine wasn't
medicine at all;
more like subtle attempts of
mutilation than a velleity.
And your arms felt like home,
until all love left them,
and they felt like smoke
enveloping me;
you never made it easier to live,
right next to you I couldn't breathe.

I will not miss you because
there is no place safer than
inside the skin
I've slowly learned to love,
inside eroding flesh, eroding cells,
someday I will possess
a brand new vessel,
a stranger to your ****.

And when you'll come knocking
Your utterances will have no gravity;
You cannot heal scars
with a mouth that exhales tar.
You exhale and what your breath
touches falls prey to decay -  
*I wish to remain.
Deathreat Man sends a My Little Pony minus a body
to the Corleonasi, but he ain't no brony, only
demonstratin' stones so stonking
that Don Cagni di Lacey cups his own coglioni
in his mafiablack incontinence *****,
sobbing dishonourably, like his ladycop namesakes
off the box, were they on the beat and on the blob.
Crimsyy Jan 2017

How could you have
expected me to defend you,
when you had, without an explanation,
bid me adieu?
How could you expect me
to wipe your slate clean
when you were never
what you seemed?

Your stain remains though
your traces have been
blurred and sugarcoated,
all the trouble you caused
hidden under your hood,
I receive the blasphemy
and you're a ***** for the applause,

Your lungs coated in tar,
you inhale smoke
and exhale bitterness
just to criticize
what you cannot polarize;
right, wrong, and too much.
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