enriko 1d

I.
My pillow smells like another deity.

In the morning, I breathe out
from only one form,
daylight to dictate who is allowed to wake,
from within me.

And during that time,
I am one deity;
I am one deity;
I am one deity.

But when night falls
and lullabies are accepted into a place
with four walls and barely a door,
I am seeded into a different
plane of reality.

Hitting my pillow,
falling into its soft embrace,
its plastic scent is dizzying-
because it is not mine.

This way,
vertigo can easily write itself over
my heightened senses.

II.
In this realm,
I exist not as myself,
or just one deity that
wishes to be
skinny-dipping into daylight
without anxiety.

Instead,
I am everything I ever wanted to be-
either something that is
close to this "true persona" i speak of
or something of a far away fantasy.

In this realm,
this void that is a blockage
from a world of judgemental skin,
I have one hand-
the key to the judgements
of the ministrations of the night.

III.
You see,
in this realm,
there are two things your hands can do
in a rather lengthy moment of warm privacy.

You can either use both yellow hands
(frigid, lacking of blood circulation),
to embrace
(without loving, without care)
to snake around your neck or
you can snake one hand
between two pillars that,
in daylight,
bring them from one place
to another.

IV.
While,
far far away,
in a wonderland,
you (or perhaps me?) wish
to be a part of one day-

a boy you've seen in short,
sizzling hallways to arousal
and moments of desire
ー He sings.

V.
He sings for you in unknown pity,
in the fact that he barely knows you,
in the fact that you,
despite never being able to touch
such majestic and soft paleness
of another-

to touch what can be touched,
yet you yourself cannot-

He sings for you until your fingers move slowly
far, far away from hell
yet closer and closer to a little
bit of death.

That is how it is;
your pillow that smells of another deity
that isn't in accordance to the "you"
painted by social sunlight-

That is how it is;
a duplication of you that is somewhat you
and the small waist you felt
your fingers touch-

afraid you'd break their
small innocent body
is gone.

It's morning now,
and fantasies are better
when kissed by blankets
and shown with purple skin
and a clock
that depicts midnight.

VI.
Before you do,
morning comes first
and it is time-

to burn yet another
undecipherable duplication
of yourself-

or whatever left of who you
used to be.

- eozyoh. 14.12.2017. 16:37.

enriko 7d

when the sun fears enough to cower over
the moon with its knees and
is kissing the tender
glass of the mirror
that reflects one side,

neptune weeps like a baby
birthed from a place unknown
yet needy all the same.

with that,
my eyes are forced open
my hands to take its waist,
its apple that was once
part of a tree.

heat sears me like stigma
yet this is different:

a paradox that speaks
not in tongues of abuse
or nationalism of one's mind.

instead,
this new sensation
is accompanied by
a high-pitched falsetto
as if feeling every paper cut
prod into his mind,
his flesh of lost innocence.

then, when reaching out
to touch this "him",
this hymn i've found,
his skeletal oblivion makes itself known.

- eozyoh. 8.12.2017. 12:42 am

Joseph Dec 4

Optimism
The dogma that is oh so self-assured of the contingency
proclaiming the prevalence of good over infamy
as though it is incontrovertibly concordant with factual certainty
'tis merely a fallacy or an element of a fantasy in which people live in harmony

Life
But really, in this cruel realm, the mistakes of our forefathers
manifest themselves as demons hollering at us to notify us of the need to be better in this endeavour
or we'd get slaughtered with the blade of a knife comprised of their defeats altogether
forged into a skin piercing crystal reminiscent of their congealed sweat that perspired from the extreme pressure
stimulated from bottling up anger and restraining themselves from speaking up against transgressors
nevertheless, we make the same mistakes to pass it on to the next generation deeming them the successors of displeasure tolerators

Death
What are the benefits of labouring through a 9 to 5 job if its eventuality
is the same as that of lying on the ground all day? It will all come to a finality
the universe is indifferent towards our actuality. It will continue expanding until it reaches the point of totality
emotions are nothing but particular sequences of electric pulses in wads of matter, faulty physicality
any memory held by any entity will eventually be lost at the end of this simulation played out chronologically

Ezra the Poet Nov 30

her eyes were
hot coals
char marks marring my
soul
fiery black fists spitting
golden embers
too hot to touch
to get too close
to see the real
her.

- love is a raging inferno i can no longer help tame with your hand

Ezra the Poet Nov 30

yeah i was just the same
one boy trying my luck.
there was another
one boy trying his luck.
we were together
forever
absent
from each other.

he left.

roses bushes are beautiful
thorny branches
of memory.
i prick myself.
i pricked him.
rose bushes are beautiful
intricate expressions.
i picked one for myself.
i picked one for him.

years pass and the rose bush
dies and
lives on
in me.

i keep the petals in a jar on my bedside.
i shake that jar,
petals rise.

i keep the petals in a jar on my bedside,
i shake that jar,
watch the petals collapse.

i cover my bed in all the jars of petals
i unscrew the top,
the petals float flat.

each petal is
a part of
me,
a part of
history.
A part of our history.

i keep the thorns in a jar on my bedside.
i shake that jar,
watch the thorns collide.

i cover my bed in all the jars of thorns.
i unscrew the top and watch the thorns
get
lost.
i pick them out of my chest upon waking,
a prick like a misplaced full-stop.

— where did you go?

Iska Nov 11

Hello.
I am the trending poem.                                                            ­            
         you see me and I make you feel alive
                                             so you like me and re-post me
                                                              ­    then you leave me alone to die.
Hello,
I am your forgotten lines.
             you created me with a careful love
                                                          an­d decisive rhymes
                                      and then to the bottom of your page I'm shoved.
Hello
I am forgotten, alone and unloved
                           a faded smile a broken dove
                                               I once was beautiful, touching.
                                                       ­   now, I've been replaced, I'm nothing.

Salman Nov 7

I walked across an empty land
I walked for miles and miles and
No ones there
I walked until my legs work no more

I sit
I watch the sun set
Still no ones there
I sit until the sunset is done

I get up and walk back
Walk home
Back to the beginning
There is people there

I walk in and greeted with
Hugs and kisses
And my family are there

I walk out
And every street is charted
My street
The people
The weather
It is all charted

A gloomy Monday
A light hearted Tuesday
Raining Wednesday
Cloudy Thursday
And windy Friday

On and on
Continuously

<Notification>

OMG! KYLIE JENNER IS HAVING A BABY...

a single notification
Made
The whole world melt
It made everyone crazy

People notice each other and
Want to talk bout kylie Jenner
And not current affairs

Wanna talk
About
Celebrities
Vines
And films

But not what we did
Or even a simple how are you

We are trapped in a single mere image

We are trapped in a illusion
Where we don’t see the bad things
And we care more about the gossip and
The Kardashians.

We care about the next movie
But not family

We laugh at bullying
And not help people in need

We don’t talk to each other
And we result to violence

FUCK THE FREE WORLD...

Learn to love and rise above hate

Lin Nov 6

A doctor isn’t allowed to tell
a dying patient’s family
that they’re going to live.

When I’m lonely
I tell myself
someone great
is going to come along.
I’ll meet him
sigh with relief
and every tear, ache, void,
will instantly make sense.

But why?

Why was I taught by society to believe
I deserve a happy for every hurt?
To assume every sad moment
has a happy ending?
When this concept is the nature of stories
not reality.

A doctor isn’t allowed to tell
a dying patient’s family
that they’re going to live
because it might not be true.

I can’t tell myself
I’ll find someone.
I’ll be happy.

Because it might not be true.

Joseph Oct 26

Sometimes the feeling isn't mutual.
Unrequited love, no sword makes an incision as deep as it does, it's  insufferable, unbearable
Longing, passion, caring, anxiety, feelings so unexplainable
all manifest themselves unmistakeably when you're in the vicinity
Gorgeous, smart, funny, kind-hearted, an all over charming personality
Your characteristics are in complete disagreement with my individuality
They say opposites attract but I don't conform to proverbs' trivialities
Maybe the reason I'm gloomy, unhappy, dispirited and appear to be in agony
Is that I live every day mourning the death of "what could've been" as if it ever were a potential actuality
But then I snap back to reality, rationalize the impossibility of that eventuality, thus rapidly spiralling into the depression circularity.

AAA Oct 13

it can be so obvious to someone that two people are meant to be together
yet they are so blind to it
you say you want me
but you are talking about the way she used to make you feel
you say you love me
but you are day dreaming of her touch
you don't want me
you want her
free me and go get her dupree

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