An albino moth wanders into my apartment
And I wonder how's it's stayed alive so far
And if it will fly low enough
for my dog to snatch out of the sky
And end a dynasty

I saw a white bug on the ground and that made me think of moths and yup

I could have been dead!
Would that I, be dead in my head?
No, I be dead in thine bed.
Would not that you care that I am dead?

Poppycock and dead!
I am never dead, I am only my head.
Not dead so to say, that you take it away.
I am dead without thine head.

Dead! Better dead than red.
Red, dead in your bed covered in red.
I said I was dead, so leave me in bed.
Dead in your eyes, dead in my bed.

Dead, like dregs.
Dead in a dreg.
Covered head to toe in clay.
Making my way, in heaven to stay.
For you my babe, I am dead.

ahhhh beats me

My white privilege is being proud to be black
I am white so I can be over the top and outspoken about being black
I can say whatever I want about whiteness
or blackness
It is self criticism
nothing to do with anyone else's assumptions
black lives matter more than white lives
is the mantra I use to self medicate
pick yourself up by the bootsraps
making black children excited
instead of scared
from the trauma of a racially imbalanced
world of whiteness
in a world that legally denies its traumatic process upon its victims
a society structured on the denial
that whiteness is a mental illness;=elan%20gregory&qid;=1459178234&ref;_=sr_1_1&sr;=8-1
Andrew Leparski Jan 2016

Within fluttered winks and falling tears
shaking hands grasp on
porcelain for forgiveness

            He or Her
whichever one prefers

Draws towards a shattered mirror.
A Face, Flush and Pale
Sanity, long set for sail
Into the storm. A storm ment to flush not rinse.

A swirl taking with it skin, vomit and blood
They begged to get rid of it
But refused to look back and fix it.

As the narrator said, shaking hands grasp porcelain for forgiveness. Tis be true.

With knuckles black and blue
and complexion changing hue
The sickness of self, hovers above the zenith of reality but stagnant in a hole of the One who has dibs on OBSCURITY.

Repeating to self
"This is the sickest form of past aggressive grieving"

With a thousand mile stare into the shattered mirror, one notices a hundred forms of self. All are gushing from the eyes and spewing from the mouth.
Nostrils nothing more than mangled cartilage. Bashed by the perceptual reflection of a late night monstrosity. Hundred times over, knees begin to buckle. but those shaking hands. Those shaking hands grasp to the porcelain for forgiveness.

Veins exposed
Running nose
Breaking news for the commonwealth..
or shall we say, the "Common Health"

Nobody to help this poor soul
Caged in catatonic infamy, not unlike the wrapping of wrists where fists are broken from being kissed. Kissed by Love and Doom. All cheer for the bride and groom, falling hatred seeping into spilt Will and separated spirit. Shhhhh only evil will hear it.

Psychotic laughter humming within like rising vibration. Chaotic Clutching to consciousness like a tormented soul. Reality based filling... Mouths grimacing at the foul stench left in the sink. A darker side hides, saying Drink Drink...Drink!

but lets make things clear, SHALL WE

There is no mirror!
There is fear in the dumbest (unaware) form,
The Form of Deformity,

a sweet link to robotic  conformity. But after that Death Dance let us all raise a glass! and TOAST, to the brightest buyer in technological advancements! thundering applause to follow, carving the dimwitted completely hollow. The clever and bleak shall wear their skin and do a dance in the creek.  splashing and slashing for the crowd to play hide and seek.


Existence is "I"
There are no games
No metaphors
No explanation
No frustration
No trust
No sympathy
No society
No justice
No absolution
No bias
No sacrament
No parliament

....ah hem....

Allow me to make things clear...

"There Will Be Blood"

This is an ode to alcohol abuse. My version of a twisted, gutwrenching reality where alcohol supplies answers to a characters duality. (Vision of self/vision of self from others) There Will Be Blood is a reminder that Alcohol can certainly be a wonderful thing and the abuse of such can very well lead to self destruction. Happy Drinking... Cheers ;p
Andrew Leparski Jan 2016

I was blind
but now I see

I was broken
But now I breathe

I was hurt
But now I feel

I was absent
But now I'm real...

Hillary Gurney Dec 2015

I feel hopeless,
Lost in the night;
But here I am,
Writing it all out.

Chaus V Nov 2015

I used to mock couples for their PDA
I used to sneer as they indulged in affectionate displays.
Being self-sufficient was all I used to enjoy
And then, one day, along came this boy...

Just like that, I was completely enthralled
Made a hypocrite by my own free-fall.
Suddenly the world was primary and pastel
Like every year I'd lived was drab gray scale.

I was never the one to compliment a beautiful day
Yet somehow the days are gorgeous now, sunshine or rain.
I'm not the kind who bothers with smiles for smiling's sake
But when I'm talking to him I'm smiling till my cheeks ache.

I used to glare at all that PDA
That one couple I just had to shoo away.
They all still get the same treatment
Though now it's because fuck long distance.

I'm jittery as though my blood is made of caffeine
I'm grinning like I just swallowed a goddamn sun beam
I'm excited as though I just won the lottery
Because this lovely boy has made a fucking fairy-tale of me.

yes, you. i felt like writing something and guess who happened to be on my mind?
effy May 2015

My worst fear is not death
I've been dead in my entire life
what I fear most
is to fall
deeply in love
to the man
I can't never
call my own

Ashanti Apr 2015

My words will brand everything that you are. 

Marisa Lu Makil Apr 2015

All I know
Is I love both of you more than myself

All I know
Is you love each other

All I know
Is I love watching you two

All I know
Is what you have is beautiful

All I know
Is you'd better not mess it up

Because I'm a sucker for a good happy ending.

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