Domagoj 12h

Watch myself into the broken mirror,
thounsand reflections of my face,
and all of them are fail.
Their eye's are open,
but still I'm not awake.

I drown myself in tears,
sink down where no one can hear,
seeking for the light and hope,
they all remain silent.

I buried myself into the sand,
sand of the time which drift away,
reaching for the edge of this life,
it cuts, it's hurting me.

As I walk through with,
discolored tunnel vision.
Crippled by sorrow,
I wish I never existed.
So incompleted, so empty.
refill me with life,
beacuse I only know how to die.
Nobody needs me, neither do I


Asia generic guy gastronomy (and how gourmet foods eat destructively clearly beyond any) excess enthusiasm. the necessity to feed and clothe this corporeal essence christened Matthew Scott Harris revels more so within the medium of writing.

Aspirations toward fame nor fortune less significant then the mere pleasure to concoct a visually savory appetizing epistle. Food for thought moreso then to fill the void, where growling heard across the world wide web, thus, no anterior, interior, or ulterior motive asper begging for money underlies this exercise. yet...if perchance a voluntary choice arises to dole out a smidgen of legal tender a name and address linkedin to this faux popinjay person, who tries to convey decency, humility, levity...qualities that wield zest.

Connoisseur Of Ethnic Cuisine

Theme seems apropos during Holiday FancyFeasts despite the plethora of – in my opinion witching hunting - reputable male personalities suddenly accused of sexual harassment after substantial time. Yes granted so the unexpected name dropping felt like a bomb shell towards chaps, this baby boomer mwm would never suspect, point the finger, or accuse, especially one former Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Though anonymous and hardly
a substantially sized mwm baby boomer
(which dual disadvantages partly explains
lack of ubiquity among claque of cooks, yet hoop full
to get attention from some well fed dame

many popular rotund gourmands l'chaim tame
their hungry beast – wa hood put me to shame
vis a vis consuming in their one meal,
what yours truly eats in a lifetime,
none of those celery buddies,

whom this non television watcher can name
seen on any selective cable channel,
I still revel in writing while
on the hunt
   (during Red October) for a meme

poetry and prose, and decided
to introduce myself quite lame
with NON GMO marginal uptick
in any sudden fortune or fame,
yet t'would be pleasantly syrup prized

if interest
from potential mistress didst exclaim

desire to enjoy a repast, though
said hypothetical gal need
not be a high society dame,
and if perchance such just desserts

came via the kitchen maiden kitty,
versus kit chin middens
no boastful claim
would be uttered by me,
her intellectual company satisfactory aim.

First and foremost on the agenda,
would be to locate an affordable,
casual and favorable eatery
tubby agreeable to our taste
indubitable choice without
(any formal dresscode),
nor further haste.

Strait away to the great weigh
(or if vegetarian – whey)
station of delectable food
where the exquisite, expertise, and exotic

high steak king a claim on Michelin Guide,
Gayot Guide/Gault Millau, American
Automobile Association, Forbes
Travel Guide reputation good.

Testimony to legendary praise
explaining why patrons travel
for countless days
transforming him/her
into steady state,

where he/she shuffles along
in a dishabille quotidian famished daze
far and wide culinary craze
out of this world wide web, the wispy Lyft
wafts trace steamy filament up braise
our noses,

whereat heads nod affirmation i.e. ayes.
Even before making a glad entrance
(into Restaurant) complete
a host of fresh, enticing,


and delicious aromas serve as a treat.
Delicate, foreign, hefty indescribable
ole factory stimulants delight
infiltrating thru swinging kitchen doors
holding us smell bound,
though thin filaments invisibly light.

Thus upon a strategic seat we hoped for,
or politely sought from manager of the house
ah, our luck to be situated in close proximity,
where impossibility to stave gaming hunger,
though neither myself nor honorable guest grouse.

Now decision time to select one delicacy equally
as appealing as the next on expansive menu list
the resultant penultimate
decision method resorted to twist
then flick (with eyes closed) the wrist.

This once difficult task complete
twas now the responsibility of the maitre'de
to store within his/her memory,
which tummy appeared like an amazing

sumptuous (promising scrumptious) feat.
Minutes ticked away
as our stomachs growled louder
patiently awaiting the grateful moment
to dine starting with clam chowder
poetry soup compiled
within me taste testing router.

Next in line from smorgasbord feast
hors d'oeuvres
   ample enough to satiate thine palate
to whet from deep fried delicacies greased
and self restraint practiced
so the main course diminished least.

We fell upon butterfly jumbo shrimp
and marinated mushrooms when brought
an atavistic motion that memory wrought.

The Matzo ball soup with Jewish rye bread
went to the gullet with a dollop of butter thinly spread.
A vegetable, venerable, veritable, and spinach pie
herbivorous delight, apple of my eye.

Parmgians, pasta and poultry
(albeit free ranging
NON GMO and gluten free) dishes galore
kept off figurative lid

(no matter stuffed to gills
ready to be mounted) to eat more
quite aware that mine waist
bulged whereby belt way buckle tore.

Last (but not least)
at the FINIS of this well stocked meal
comprises selection of dessert,
which samples visible
from a glass enclosed wheel
tickling that reserved “off limits” hot pocket

hashtagged for just such a sugary treat
thus summoning forth
within an engorged abdomen,
   nonetheless, an audible zeal.

That reserved allotted sweet
baked, fried, or whipped parfait
or countless other grandiose
mouth watering delicacy.

Ah...juiced enough wiggle room
for one decadent byte, perchance small
enough to roll around in the mouth,
like a Chocolat Mousse, or a honey ball.

Despite that ready to explode
simply eyeing a food tray
no longer in an ala mode vis a vis
clamoring for consumption

well aware by the morrow or sooner
this bloated dirigible fulfilled human
would dearly caloric wise pay.

What a beautiful rainy day!
This made my little heart so happy
Nature has been playing
with raindrops from this morning.
I'd enjoy this up to evening
oh, I just can't move away.

Sweetie, you are becoming so shy
drop by drop and talking
with them and I am enjoying
your shyness and dancing
feet and you're making
it hard for me and still smiling.
Beloved, I'm so happy today that's why.

Marie Dec 7

I wonder,
If I were born to walk the moon,
Would you shoot for me?

No worries,
it's just a game of hearts
And I'm a little rusty.

I didn't want to hate you,
but I'm trying to accept that I do.
There's no way we will fix this,
you're not the right personality type to.

Every time I hear you I feel so sad and angry. I just want you to go away.
Amelia Robin Dec 7

Out of randomly seeking
I’ve seen this possible opportunity
I hope I’ll be qualified enough
To proved my self-worth
Even more than what others may thought of me
Just give me a chance
I won’t mess up this time
This could be it
No to jinx please
I’m trembling upon typing
No to more errors please
Just a single chance is what I plead
Lead my way to You.

Saint Audrey Dec 7

Fine things lining pockets
And flawed gems from a faucet
It took a month to mar the clauses
long forgotten fiends and flowing
Nature lost scenery

It might be menial, but if I don't like the imagery
I'd use a run on and run on, running on
Fumes like carbon clouds, bowing at the center
Of the hopelessness I've found

Of moths and flame, danger and wanting
Nature and harboring diseases and watching
Crystalline precipices overblown from cold
Rain, eroding stone long since lain

Homes blown through in half a day
Another half century laid waste
Forage a new course for the streams
The selfish, like me only disagree

Despite the discontent
Restless nights and fires burning low
Into the biting air, a show of flair
Its not right, or fair to vent

Hollow, it would seem
Still stable, the ecosystem of
Constant change
Trying to be heard over a flood of filth

Tidal waves painting fields
Recessing long since venerated guest
Retaking ocean lost to sandy beaches
And kids with half a dream left in them
I spent my last penny on a whim

Is my cat lonely and depressed beyond measure, trapped within this box on a hill?
Or am I just projecting?
We...she, needs to go outside and be in nature
Can you not see our longing to be free?
All I have left are my words and barely that
even these words are poisonous to me
No One deserves them, not you or the strangers over these machines
Oh what sorrow in those eyes,Ceasars messiah

The folks on the hill came on the radio whilst writing this at 12:21, I'm hoping for meaning or purpose in anything.
Phoebe Woods Dec 4

Four walls and a door propped open.
Roof comfortably overhead.
Full size bed with a squishy mattress.
Glass of water on the bedside table.

Prescription bottles gathered on the dresser.
Parental gaze from overhead.
Creeping fear from the open door.
Broken shard of glass on the floor.

Blood pooling in the carpet.
Gash deep in both arms.
Well-known fear out the open door.
Broken body on the floor.

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