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Coop Lee Oct 10
uncle c. knelt before the town shrine and prayed for forgiveness. drizzled hot poison into the ear of his own brother, our heavenly father, last seen eating tangelos nearly naked in the kitchen itching for tomorrow. dreamt of cruise ships and old timeshares. jupiter in alignment with his moons. fruit of the loom. the girl-next-door digs at her wrists with wire. the yellow of our touching lawns. she’ll later drown herself in the local swimming pool. her brother is away at war. her friends absent-eyed. her lover to be, or not to be, me, more or less, a ghost in my own shoes. my mother, mom, mommy lay spread and spoken for like cornucopia, spilling her own phantasms, or apparitions of fidelity. end scene. come the prodigal son: his fresh and gingered mustache. he spends hours in the video aisles running his fingers along the edges of dvd box plastics. the past-midnight blue hue of dream-o-vision, television, visionary vengeance, played like boots and buttons in an aspen grove. a memory of father and mother sweeping their feet through the leaves. he awakens to traveled college friends collapsed on his porch, palms etched in text. only a good pancake breakfast will awaken them, with eternal syrup and powdered sugar, to life and liberty. later he will let these friends die at sea, and the sea will be a large lake like the erie. crayola-hex: sweet green algae. and he will dig up the skull of a nanny buried in the backyard some sunday in the 90s, and speak to her, of her, almost laughing. he will return to the living room and hearth, back to the knit-sweater christmas party, neighbors a chorus of convenient fools, mon uncle, mon drunk, mon mother frothing at the seams. poison in her cup. knife pressed against his cheek. he will alter the dénouement, hijack the timeline, and instead of ****** his family in vengeful bliss, resolve to laze about on holiday with his feet up scanning through the vast satellite channel package. he is looking for something nostalgic, just for a bit longer, pondering his own prospected haves and have-nots. there on the sofa, scooping pie with his fingers.

returned scholar lost
in his own hometown
dreaming of movies
Amy Oct 9
~My heart belongs to you~
My heart belongs to you
Sorry not you
But My controller.

I sit down playing my game for hours, and hours, and hours.
With my red eyes, I keep playing prolonged.
My fingers are tired, my head is tired and my eyes are tired.
But I never stop.
I stop until I’ve reached my goal…., until I reach my desires.
I guess you can say that I am the type to keep going until I reach my goals in life.
And that’s a good thing.
And When I am done, I fall completely asleep with my arms holding on to my precious controller, all happy.

~Amy <3
This poem was made for my brother cause of how much he is addicted to video games
Spadille Sep 10
The red light is blinking
The camera is now rolling
A recording of me singing a beautiful lullaby
With you staring at me in the background

Those ocean blue eyes embedded in my soul
Gazing at me with a loving look
Telling a thousand words
Getting lost in my melody

This is such a wonderful memory
I have loved every second of it
Not because of my serenade
But because of you
I see you seeking consolation in your video consoles
digital moguls making profit from your wretched, con(ned) souls
they're selling lies to you, well packaged in that shiny box
you think they're keys while indeed they're just a bunch of locks
meant to entrap your precious souls thru' well devised distraction
these dudes are smart, tho' they're bent on man's own ill destruction
feed you illusions, just confuse you from the Truth then,
tighten that noose around your neck with each release man

I find it shocking how they  bring down mighty Titans
with virtual lies that are disguised as Man's enlightenment
Alicia Moore Jul 6
Life is like a video game,
The motive is to survive the ultimate level.
You can be the one to cast the flame
And shift the blame,
But in the end —
We’re all faced with the devil.
the happiness was only a spur of mania
I wish I was the sun
the high wears off and I remember my skin
as he flicks his cigarette out the window.
you are the front porch light
that bathes the street in a nauseating yellow.
I dream of fields of flowers I can die in
stupid and empty.
stupid and empty.
swallowed in the discomfort of this aching body
a deer sprawled out in the middle of the road,
maggots gnawing at the skin- once full of youth
stumbling through June- time seemed to stop.
writing poems I won’t show anybody,
I won’t tell anyone I’m sick.
I just hope I remember this summer spent in hell.
Lulu Jun 13
A few seconds, yes,
But the sound melted me.
Amanda Apr 8
We are all treading water
Trying to keep our heads above the waves

Same game
Different methods of beating bosses in every victorious match

Dealing with maps encountered everywhere progressed in this world
No matter how complicated the terrain or what difficulty the opposition is set to

Just multiple devils disguised as characters to test character and integrity

In the digital world if mistakes are made get to retry levels until you get it right

If you die
That death does not equal a permanent zap out of existence but instead is more like a breif catnap
Then you are magically healed and respawned like a phoenix rising from the ash and ruin

The same miracle does not work like that in reality

When our time comes we are banished from this living hell we have named Earth to reside in a perpetual pitch-black exile

There is no consolation prize
Bonus round
Final scoring or tallying of points to alter the outcome of events
The only resemblance the end of a human beings life has to a video game is the "sudden death" part
If my life was a video game I think it would be something like Kingdom Hearts
Julia Jan 28
i wonder if you like
video games
or is breaking my heart
the only game you like to play?
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
Feathers ruffled
Knives out
Glue me to the game console
Harebrained, yes
But devout
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