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Atlas Jun 2017
I feel like a brick building with graffiti on it
Special on the outside
But the inside is empty and the walls are solid.
I want to be an art gallery with a bright red door,
I want to lure people into my world and show them my organs
And let them take me for a spin.
Spike Harper Jul 2017
Its hard to claim the breathe that is gifted to these lungs.
Difficult to boast about the idea of owned space.
Yet it is seen.
Time and time again.
Personal.
Space.
As if everyone has forgotten.
The probability which led to ones own realization.
How easily the consciousness could have never came to be.
Its just shunned away to the darkest corner.
Not even allowed space in the brain.
The here and now tales precedence over what will never be.
And to an extent it is justified.
For no one should live by what ifs.
But.
To claim ownership of the air that all existence shares.
Well.
Who am I to chastise.
There are too many ways to describe pretentious.
And somehow this mind tires endlessly with the maze of its undoing.
Sentences repeat and rearrange themselves.
Until rubbing tired eyes no longer sooths the minds eye.
Waste.
Waste.
waste.
May there come and day.
That the later takes hold.
Then maybe exhaling wont feel so.
Unsatisfying.
-E Jun 2017
Im tired of hurt and pain
So my heart grew cold to everything
Im pushing everyone away
no one can break through these walls
play on my feeling not again I say
till the one I builded these walls up for comes along
Break them with ease and im back to square one
-2017
-E
Àŧùl May 2017
Even the walls have their ears,
Although they are nonliving,
Virgin cries were overheard,
Easily by the walls themselves,
Sexy sounds of *******,
Deflowering the young wife,
Roping in spies for the purpose,
Opening the ***** so delicate,
People so enjoy overhearing,
Pretty sights shine right upfront,
In their addiction to **** time,
No secrets remain virtuously,
G**ood habits are hard to develop.
Defaming the non-living is so easy,
People eavesdrop often to later blame it on the walls,
They say that even the walls have ears.

My HP Poem #1564
©Atul Kaushal
Dream Fisher May 2017
It's funny, you can be in bed with soft, warm sheets
While there's a fire going on right up the street.
On that corner, there's a man begging for cash
While some kids drive by who don't appreciate what they have
They stop by a burger joint to get a bite to eat
While the kid flipping burgers is working towards a dream
See that boy has been working seven nights a week
At the end of the night, he asks for a raise
But the manager knows he's stuck in a maze
Shaking his head no, this world just doesn't pay
Building you up just enough to never reach the end
With all the money in the bank and not a dollar to spend.

It's funny, you wake up and lace up your shoes
While a kid down at the park is playing the blues,
A man on that park bench suffers from the real blues
Just from picking up his morning paper and reading the news
He gets so sick of the rat race, he goes home,
And prepares for a rigged game of Russian roulette
But right before he puts that barrel to the side of his head
His phone rings, and has a good chat with old friend
In that one call he puts dead, his plan to be dead,
Goes to a clinic and gets help instead.

It's funny, while I was writing or as you were reading
The man in the next room could bleeding
Shouting for help, you didn't hear his call
Focused on all for one, amigos, we need to be one for all
If no one is listening, I'm just talking to the walls
there is a world out there,
       beyond these walls of my childhood.
restricted by the boundaries,
       of discovery and youth.
once i am gone, once i am free,
       i can live the unknown
       i can live the unthinkable
       i can live in someone else's walls.
all new to me.
short version of a poem written in paper journal on the 31st of January, 2017, before moving to a foreign country
I've built walls in front of me for decades,
Protected my mind for centuries,
And all it does is destroy me.

Nobody get's through,
Nobody really knows,
I'm all alone.

I may feel safe, but I don't feel happy.
Just about this persona I put on to disguise the real truths that make me vulnerable. Getting hurt can do that to you because you get too scared to be open again. Probably many of you relate.
Ironatmosphere May 2017
I am banging on the walls
Loud, angry thuds echo around me
I am screaming for you to see me
But you tell me you can’t
You can’t see through the walls,
The walls you claim that I have built
My legs tremble as I fall
The skin on my knees curl around the gravel
And I wonder
As you walk away
Why can’t you see me through these glass walls?
Arjun Raj May 2017
Some walls are built to remain
While some others are built to defeat
While some, are just built to reminisce or reflect.
Walls
They either keep you in..
Or keep you out,
But you are only confined by the ones you make for yourself,
Because boundaries are not made,
It’s created
So, think beyond those walls
And make the world truly yours.
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