#analytical - Hello Poetry

The height of the ledge granted miles of visibility, from which I perceived a landscape so barren that decay itself had littered the earth with writings of its famine. Fixed overhead, the harsh sun exhausted every part of my being as my eyes pooled with gratitude—for I could not imagine the state of my vision had the ground been more solid and hoary. Abandoning hope of amelioration, I watched as the stone below binged upon the light—reflecting only that which met it between guzzles. From this binge, a subsequent purge of radiant heat ensued, seemingly serving as a form of remittance to the air through which the energy had initially been permitted to pass. Tracing the cliff's face, the newly heated air rose in gusts to the point at which it met mine—further immersing me in a growing sum of vertigo. Overwhelmed, I took a step back and—despite my efforts—still somehow managed to collide with everything existing outside of my posterior. The view of the desert displayed itself to me in full; I saw a place unapologetically indifferent to acknowledgement or understanding. Haunted by permanence, the thought of the city struck me—and I became overwhelmed by the disparity; I felt myself choke on the recollection of its nourishless bounty—an ever-expanding sea of stimulation, perpetually begging for attention: damning us to be pruned by its abundance while starving in its own growth. For centuries, a desire for more has given reason to manufacture new means for innovation; and in its wake, it has left nothingness itself—the true logical default—to now stand as one of the few remaining novelties.

0

Jun 25, 2025

Jun 25, 2025 at 2:42 PM UTC

WitchesMilk

On Deserts

The height of the ledge granted miles of visibility, from which I perceived a landscape so barren that decay itself had littered the earth with writings of its famine. Fixed overhead, the harsh sun exhausted every part of my being as my eyes pooled with gratitude—for I could not imagine the state of my vision had the ground been more solid and hoary. Abandoning hope of amelioration, I watched as the stone below binged upon the light—reflecting only that which met it between guzzles. From this binge, a subsequent purge of radiant heat ensued, seemingly serving as a form of remittance to the air through which the energy had initially been permitted to pass. Tracing the cliff's face, the newly heated air rose in gusts to the point at which it met mine—further immersing me in a growing sum of vertigo. Overwhelmed, I took a step back and—despite my efforts—still somehow managed to collide with everything existing outside of my posterior. The view of the desert displayed itself to me in full; I saw a place unapologetically indifferent to acknowledgement or understanding. Haunted by permanence, the thought of the city struck me—and I became overwhelmed by the disparity; I felt myself choke on the recollection of its nourishless bounty—an ever-expanding sea of stimulation, perpetually begging for attention: damning us to be pruned by its abundance while starving in its own growth. For centuries, a desire for more has given reason to manufacture new means for innovation; and in its wake, it has left nothingness itself—the true logical default—to now stand as one of the few remaining novelties.

8

We are all bewildered dancers Lost in an incomprehensible ballet— Woven tightly through a rich tapestry, Drawn from contrasting colors, Yet forming a boundless whole, Waltzing hand in hand— In love and hate, joy and suffering, Dark and light, death and life. The universe—a radiant church window, Fracturing light into polychromatic unity, Drifting shards of stained glass, Piercing through the drama of duality, Rippling into a sea of endless complexity, Wedged between the boundaries of stars and the space that forms them, A perfection found in imperfection, Beneath this sea of contrast lies truth: How could we be anything at all Without two sides to make us whole? Before the technicolor skies formation, We were the loneliest deity, Infinity alone in a room made of itself, Where everything was everywhere, And time unfolded all at once. So we crafted ourselves a dream— From the core of our mirrored soul, A place where I am you and you are me, So we may live and perish in grace. So we may play a game with ourselves, Performing on this boundless stage, An intricate puzzle piece, Fitting together in a dance of chaos, Meticulously designed to deceive ourselves, So we may treasure life in the face of death. Navigators of the in-between, Wandering the maze of nothingness. If infinity could dream, Its deepest longing would be To grasp something real— To feel the grass beneath its feet, As it runs across the hills of our earth, Savoring the fleeting bliss of it all. The present is so precious, It hints at a reason we call it so— A split second glimpse of meaning In the eternal dance of existence.

0

Sep 9, 2024

Sep 9, 2024 at 10:50 AM UTC

graveyardorchid

Meditation On Death

We are all bewildered dancers Lost in an incomprehensible ballet— Woven tightly through a rich tapestry, Drawn from contrasting colors, Yet forming a boundless whole, Waltzing hand in hand— In love and hate, joy and suffering, Dark and light, death and life. The universe—a radiant church window, Fracturing light into polychromatic unity, Drifting shards of stained glass, Piercing through the drama of duality, Rippling into a sea of endless complexity, Wedged between the boundaries of stars and the space that forms them, A perfection found in imperfection, Beneath this sea of contrast lies truth: How could we be anything at all Without two sides to make us whole? Before the technicolor skies formation, We were the loneliest deity, Infinity alone in a room made of itself, Where everything was everywhere, And time unfolded all at once. So we crafted ourselves a dream— From the core of our mirrored soul, A place where I am you and you are me, So we may live and perish in grace. So we may play a game with ourselves, Performing on this boundless stage, An intricate puzzle piece, Fitting together in a dance of chaos, Meticulously designed to deceive ourselves, So we may treasure life in the face of death. Navigators of the in-between, Wandering the maze of nothingness. If infinity could dream, Its deepest longing would be To grasp something real— To feel the grass beneath its feet, As it runs across the hills of our earth, Savoring the fleeting bliss of it all. The present is so precious, It hints at a reason we call it so— A split second glimpse of meaning In the eternal dance of existence.

46

Humans tread this lonely universe, as an ever-dispersing body, but our I’s never meet. Behind the velvet curtains of our minds, within the iris of our eyes, rests an endless expanse of stars, refracting off a crystalline hall of mirrors— a boundless, eternal reflection, devoid of every word. Whispering so softly in us, behind all thought, all form, revealing everything, yet ultimately nothing— nothing at all.

0

Sep 9, 2024

Sep 9, 2024 at 10:49 AM UTC

graveyardorchid

Collective(Un)Conscious

Humans tread this lonely universe, as an ever-dispersing body, but our I’s never meet. Behind the velvet curtains of our minds, within the iris of our eyes, rests an endless expanse of stars, refracting off a crystalline hall of mirrors— a boundless, eternal reflection, devoid of every word. Whispering so softly in us, behind all thought, all form, revealing everything, yet ultimately nothing— nothing at all.

15

DIGESTION When the temperature is raised Particles gain kinetic energy And collide at a greater frequency. The more particles that collide The chances of a reaction occurring increases. How many times have elbows rubbed In hallways, no matter how crowded Yet nothing happens, Nothing precipitates, Not even a cough Or a wandering shot From the corner of their eyes. People pass By or away And yet hallways are still full; Full of thoughts of other people Full of longing Full of the people who are missing. USE OF ELECTROLYTE The addition of an electrolyte Reduces the coulombic repulsion Produced by a solution’s ionic atmosphere; An electrolyte allows ions to interact more freely. A full bus is void of tension. A stranger who writes letters everyday, But crumples the paper before finishing Is completed by the person Who eagerly awaits a text on their phone. A person with a bouquet of flowers Catches the eye of someone lost in thought. So many people who compliment one another, Or an other, Sit idly on a moving bus Separated only by people Who, too, are separated from their second piece. You meet such people everyday Who could have been, Yet are not. CO-PRECIPITATION Something that is generally avoided. An impurity that co-precipitates with the product Can cause an overestimation of analyte. Impurities can be caught within The crystal lattice structure of the compound Or trapped inside a growing crystal. It may be hard to understand Such thoughts still seem foreign But I, too, have things that I remember dearly. They are wrapped up with Lists of groceries, and formulas About distance and its relation to Speed and its change over time. It is all just things that have Come to pass. Such memories are hard to keep When there is only one who articulates them, But I am sure Perhaps years from now You’ll catch yourself thinking For a split second And then go about your day. PEPTIZATION The breaking up of precipitate Due the loss of electrolyte Which strengthens the ionic atmosphere Around the analyte. In line at a bus stop A glimpse is caught Of the oncoming bus And people shuffle As the line moves up. Never again Can the same people Line up the same way For the same bus We are too fragile To construct ourselves in such a way Where we can meet again. Fate is too frail Someone must leave Leaves must fall But someone always stays.

0

Nov 4, 2018

Nov 4, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC

leocardo_reis

Techniques for gravimetric analysis

DIGESTION When the temperature is raised Particles gain kinetic energy And collide at a greater frequency. The more particles that collide The chances of a reaction occurring increases. How many times have elbows rubbed In hallways, no matter how crowded Yet nothing happens, Nothing precipitates, Not even a cough Or a wandering shot From the corner of their eyes. People pass By or away And yet hallways are still full; Full of thoughts of other people Full of longing Full of the people who are missing. USE OF ELECTROLYTE The addition of an electrolyte Reduces the coulombic repulsion Produced by a solution’s ionic atmosphere; An electrolyte allows ions to interact more freely. A full bus is void of tension. A stranger who writes letters everyday, But crumples the paper before finishing Is completed by the person Who eagerly awaits a text on their phone. A person with a bouquet of flowers Catches the eye of someone lost in thought. So many people who compliment one another, Or an other, Sit idly on a moving bus Separated only by people Who, too, are separated from their second piece. You meet such people everyday Who could have been, Yet are not. CO-PRECIPITATION Something that is generally avoided. An impurity that co-precipitates with the product Can cause an overestimation of analyte. Impurities can be caught within The crystal lattice structure of the compound Or trapped inside a growing crystal. It may be hard to understand Such thoughts still seem foreign But I, too, have things that I remember dearly. They are wrapped up with Lists of groceries, and formulas About distance and its relation to Speed and its change over time. It is all just things that have Come to pass. Such memories are hard to keep When there is only one who articulates them, But I am sure Perhaps years from now You’ll catch yourself thinking For a split second And then go about your day. PEPTIZATION The breaking up of precipitate Due the loss of electrolyte Which strengthens the ionic atmosphere Around the analyte. In line at a bus stop A glimpse is caught Of the oncoming bus And people shuffle As the line moves up. Never again Can the same people Line up the same way For the same bus We are too fragile To construct ourselves in such a way Where we can meet again. Fate is too frail Someone must leave Leaves must fall But someone always stays.

83

Of thee, my queen of stinky toes; ur feminine perfumes surround me; ur red perfume meanders through my nostrils like day and flowers; I will drink all ur sweet and bitter nectar; look and do not deny urself to your prophet, squire, thirst for thirst, and you will drink of me in the gilded brook of the joyful dance O to ur exquisitely stinky feet; woman's heady perfume surrounds me; ur red perfume smashes through my nostrils like heaven and flowers; I will drink all your sweet and bitter dew; look, don't deny your prophet, nostalgia, thirst for thirst, you will drink of me of the gilded stream of joyful dancing ur exquisite smelly feet; Woman's perfume surrounding me like red petals crushed to my nostrils like the sky and flowers; I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew; Look, don’t deny ur prophet, Your memory, ur thirst for understanding thirst, you will drink w/ me with a happy golden dance Exquisite smelly feet; Woman's perfume surrounds me; ur red perfume is crushed in my nostrils like the sky and flowers; I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew; Look, don’t deny ur prophet, ur memory, eager to understand the longing for longing, drink of me longingly in gold-plated happiness The woman's stench and delicate feet, the woman's perfume revolves around me, ur red perfume is pressed against my nostrils like the sky and flowers, I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew, see, do not deny ur prophet, ur memory, longing to understand nostalgic desires, you will drink w/ me in a cheerful dance The woman's stench and delicate feet, the woman's perfume swirled around me, ur red soles pressed against my nostrils, I breathe u in like the sky and flowers, I would drink all your sweet and bitter dew, see, do not deny you Prophet, ur memory to understand nostalgic desires, you will have a cheerful golden dance The stench of a woman and her thin legs, the perfume of a woman swirling around me, ur red spirits snuggled against my nostrils, like the sky and flowers, I would drink all your sweet and bitter dew, do not deprive urself of the Prophet, ur memories of nostalgic desires, you will be a joyful dancer made of golden light A woman and her thin thighs, the fragrance of a woman revolving around me, ur red soul blazes against my nose, like the sky and the flowers, I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew & like rare wine you do not depreciate w/ the memory of ur sadness's desires, you will be a prosperous golden dancer That a woman and her skinny thighs wrapped in the perfume of my wife; despite our soul's sadness, we will be successful

0

Apr 17, 2018

Apr 17, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC

johnny-noiπ

semelle de la semelle

Of thee, my queen of stinky toes; ur feminine perfumes surround me; ur red perfume meanders through my nostrils like day and flowers; I will drink all ur sweet and bitter nectar; look and do not deny urself to your prophet, squire, thirst for thirst, and you will drink of me in the gilded brook of the joyful dance O to ur exquisitely stinky feet; woman's heady perfume surrounds me; ur red perfume smashes through my nostrils like heaven and flowers; I will drink all your sweet and bitter dew; look, don't deny your prophet, nostalgia, thirst for thirst, you will drink of me of the gilded stream of joyful dancing ur exquisite smelly feet; Woman's perfume surrounding me like red petals crushed to my nostrils like the sky and flowers; I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew; Look, don’t deny ur prophet, Your memory, ur thirst for understanding thirst, you will drink w/ me with a happy golden dance Exquisite smelly feet; Woman's perfume surrounds me; ur red perfume is crushed in my nostrils like the sky and flowers; I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew; Look, don’t deny ur prophet, ur memory, eager to understand the longing for longing, drink of me longingly in gold-plated happiness The woman's stench and delicate feet, the woman's perfume revolves around me, ur red perfume is pressed against my nostrils like the sky and flowers, I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew, see, do not deny ur prophet, ur memory, longing to understand nostalgic desires, you will drink w/ me in a cheerful dance The woman's stench and delicate feet, the woman's perfume swirled around me, ur red soles pressed against my nostrils, I breathe u in like the sky and flowers, I would drink all your sweet and bitter dew, see, do not deny you Prophet, ur memory to understand nostalgic desires, you will have a cheerful golden dance The stench of a woman and her thin legs, the perfume of a woman swirling around me, ur red spirits snuggled against my nostrils, like the sky and flowers, I would drink all your sweet and bitter dew, do not deprive urself of the Prophet, ur memories of nostalgic desires, you will be a joyful dancer made of golden light A woman and her thin thighs, the fragrance of a woman revolving around me, ur red soul blazes against my nose, like the sky and the flowers, I will drink all ur sweet and bitter dew & like rare wine you do not depreciate w/ the memory of ur sadness's desires, you will be a prosperous golden dancer That a woman and her skinny thighs wrapped in the perfume of my wife; despite our soul's sadness, we will be successful

69

*Her beauty glows from her character, Her eyes are good attitude, And her lips; good words. Her nostrils are hope, Her make up is confidence, Her crown is her integrity. She isnt flawless and she doesnt try to be Real as she can be, She lives in reality. Emotional independence and stability both are her strengths, A woman with values and well aware of her worth, Doesnt abuse her sexuality to take men for granted. That is the queen of integrity.*

0

Oct 31, 2016

Oct 31, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC

tapiwa

Queen of integrity

*Her beauty glows from her character, Her eyes are good attitude, And her lips; good words. Her nostrils are hope, Her make up is confidence, Her crown is her integrity. She isnt flawless and she doesnt try to be Real as she can be, She lives in reality. Emotional independence and stability both are her strengths, A woman with values and well aware of her worth, Doesnt abuse her sexuality to take men for granted. That is the queen of integrity.*

13

hatred for every human that's ever existed how pathetic, naive, stupid they fill me with disgust and pity isn't it ironic how my pretentious view of humanity is matched by my inherent desire for their company? making me the most pathetic most disgusting most pitiful one of all I'm ******* lonely as hell dude can't stand to be around anyone but even more, can't bear to be alone with my mind intimacy and conversation - regardless of quality - serve as a distraction from the feeling of dread which won't leave me ever in my solitude it feels like something is laughing at my existence: a cockroach with a superiority complex pretending to be dignified like it won't be crushed immediately when stepped on SOMETHING OR SOMEONE PLEASE END MY LIFE

0

Aug 20, 2016

Aug 20, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC

beckybabe

******* HELL I'M A BAD JOKE

hatred for every human that's ever existed how pathetic, naive, stupid they fill me with disgust and pity isn't it ironic how my pretentious view of humanity is matched by my inherent desire for their company? making me the most pathetic most disgusting most pitiful one of all I'm ******* lonely as hell dude can't stand to be around anyone but even more, can't bear to be alone with my mind intimacy and conversation - regardless of quality - serve as a distraction from the feeling of dread which won't leave me ever in my solitude it feels like something is laughing at my existence: a cockroach with a superiority complex pretending to be dignified like it won't be crushed immediately when stepped on SOMETHING OR SOMEONE PLEASE END MY LIFE

44

I am the ocean- from an objective glance one might say I am predictable my tides my moods are just a reaction caused by my moon of emotion I inch closer to you then pull away the moon is my master and I am but a puppet to her wade in my shallow waters before venturing further for your own safety study me first before exploring my depth I have swallowed innocent people whole when they did not know what to expect their bodies will always rise but I have drowned their souls in my darkness not something I am proud of but they should have known what they were getting into inside me there lives demons disguised as sharks lurking until you show your vulnerability once they smell it they will hunt you down and abuse you for their own advantage but when you get to know my secrets my waters my soul I promise there is beauty in the underwater foliage I can show you sights you have never seen as long as you remember when to pull up for air just bring a life vest and don't say I never warned you not to swim too deep

0

Apr 11, 2016

Apr 11, 2016 at 2:56 AM UTC

beckybabe

WARNING: DANGEROUS WATER AHEAD

I am the ocean- from an objective glance one might say I am predictable my tides my moods are just a reaction caused by my moon of emotion I inch closer to you then pull away the moon is my master and I am but a puppet to her wade in my shallow waters before venturing further for your own safety study me first before exploring my depth I have swallowed innocent people whole when they did not know what to expect their bodies will always rise but I have drowned their souls in my darkness not something I am proud of but they should have known what they were getting into inside me there lives demons disguised as sharks lurking until you show your vulnerability once they smell it they will hunt you down and abuse you for their own advantage but when you get to know my secrets my waters my soul I promise there is beauty in the underwater foliage I can show you sights you have never seen as long as you remember when to pull up for air just bring a life vest and don't say I never warned you not to swim too deep

56

I was thirteen when I made the first incision on my ****** heart, allowing its contents to pour out in a heavenly wave of confusion and innocence. Which is fine. I was fourteen when I tried to stitch the pericardium back together with the “I love you’s” that were never meant to be said, the heat of the activity, and the temporary “Stay Strong”s. Which is also fine. I was fifteen when I learned that the heart muscle can only regenerate in small, limited quantities, that it would never be quite the same in its entirety. Which is, again, fine. Now I am seventeen days from my sixteenth birthday, and I’m learning that time spent alone can not only let you find yourself, but can also lead you to parts of yourself you weren’t meant to discover quite yet. But I am almost sixteen, and it’s too late. I cannot forget what I know. Maybe seventeen will be kinder.

0

Jun 7, 2015

Jun 7, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC

valchavez47

The Heart Of Ages

I was thirteen when I made the first incision on my ****** heart, allowing its contents to pour out in a heavenly wave of confusion and innocence. Which is fine. I was fourteen when I tried to stitch the pericardium back together with the “I love you’s” that were never meant to be said, the heat of the activity, and the temporary “Stay Strong”s. Which is also fine. I was fifteen when I learned that the heart muscle can only regenerate in small, limited quantities, that it would never be quite the same in its entirety. Which is, again, fine. Now I am seventeen days from my sixteenth birthday, and I’m learning that time spent alone can not only let you find yourself, but can also lead you to parts of yourself you weren’t meant to discover quite yet. But I am almost sixteen, and it’s too late. I cannot forget what I know. Maybe seventeen will be kinder.

9

Im starting to write less and less and Its scaring me because I either have no sufferings to write about or Its all become to much which one? how will I know? whats wrong with my head Its all twisted up inside knotted guts struggling to chew through knowledge am I maturing? or am I finally turning to dust I'm sorry if I'm not so sweet to hold, its difficult when you slip through gaps like the ones in your fingers and the holes in your heart

0

May 6, 2015

May 6, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC

Actualityandfalseness

Im confused

Im starting to write less and less and Its scaring me because I either have no sufferings to write about or Its all become to much which one? how will I know? whats wrong with my head Its all twisted up inside knotted guts struggling to chew through knowledge am I maturing? or am I finally turning to dust I'm sorry if I'm not so sweet to hold, its difficult when you slip through gaps like the ones in your fingers and the holes in your heart

15

Time is valuable Its worth is incalculable Time is unstoppable Pausing it is impossible Time is change Nothing will ever be the same Time is limited Because death is imminent Time is uncontrollable The amount we receive is not negotiable Time is mysterious Because it is very ambiguous Time is irrational Attempting to measure it is unnatural Time devastates It will slowly decimate Time is addicting Without it, we would not be living Time is torture It slowly prepares us for the coroner So be happy It will cure the pains that hurt badly So be unique Your life does not have to be routine Take the path that is right for you Take the path with the best view

0

Jul 30, 2014

Jul 30, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC

nate-pace

Understanding Time

Time is valuable Its worth is incalculable Time is unstoppable Pausing it is impossible Time is change Nothing will ever be the same Time is limited Because death is imminent Time is uncontrollable The amount we receive is not negotiable Time is mysterious Because it is very ambiguous Time is irrational Attempting to measure it is unnatural Time devastates It will slowly decimate Time is addicting Without it, we would not be living Time is torture It slowly prepares us for the coroner So be happy It will cure the pains that hurt badly So be unique Your life does not have to be routine Take the path that is right for you Take the path with the best view

26

Don't obsess over the romantics- shadows of eyelashes what longing is and means the way a chest falls when bad news is heard. Do anticipate disappointment- and revel in pleasant surprise only for the moment it exists. Understand nothing lasts forever. Don't give it away all the time. and form a forcefield- a wall if it wills. Always focus on the next task at hand. Stop being so gracious- and have more ambition, demands that are either met or excelled, higher standards. You are stone until you want to be water. Trees until you want to be storms. The mouse until you want to be the owl.

0

Jun 25, 2014

Jun 25, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC

tntcl

Things I tell myself in cold comfort

Don't obsess over the romantics- shadows of eyelashes what longing is and means the way a chest falls when bad news is heard. Do anticipate disappointment- and revel in pleasant surprise only for the moment it exists. Understand nothing lasts forever. Don't give it away all the time. and form a forcefield- a wall if it wills. Always focus on the next task at hand. Stop being so gracious- and have more ambition, demands that are either met or excelled, higher standards. You are stone until you want to be water. Trees until you want to be storms. The mouse until you want to be the owl.

19

Illegal answers require psychic invasion, Personal opinion poses dangerous hobbies. Thought police outlaw; evasion, Applauds fourth-dimensional bodies. If lifespan be as a labyrinth, And garish men of magicians, Are blessed with luck and wisdom. If we bloom as imperialists, And abandon our traditions, Then it backfired, teaching us to think independently but listen. Some advice screams truth aloud. Too poor, for this is the minority, Now the scene of this ****** thing is crowned. Dim lit street lamps; slow dancing silhouettes. A kingdom falls and it kills the sound. Where we question lies here and there, Here, then there, cancer coated lessons- And long conversation that only wonder of more, hollowing an aged box of danger. It has only taken every single descendants chances, and we've trophied our lack of community. So we've taken up advances, and embraced our anonymity. More secure in loneliness and his companions, Because fear is a world built for lost men with a common trait. Their demeanor cheers: "Abandoned, Abandoned." -Traversing dust-riddled attics, Discovering volumes, the journals of addicts. We make the vices so dramatic, Pray sweet no sinner, leaving gods post-traumatic. Paperback letters, Another waiting for the weekend. Another fix, and I'm complacent. Another deafening regret. Screaming in my ears, My pulse excites, vacation. Animus gone racing. You can't see it, but I swear it's there, I don't know what you see in material things. It doesn't hurt, but it bleeds. Ghost towns, we, The apparitions, have minds so twisted, It's Cataclysmic commonplace, And these are some sadistic statistics. What is the damage? The telephone whispers, almost dead. Another crippling harlot, Internal bleeding, And a few scars left. A question lingers in the atmosphere. Will I die like this? The grass is green, and you can hide in your lies, But know there's not much luck on the other side Now? I don't ******* care, I don't...care. Because all I consist of is a lost cause, A lost cause with burdens to bear. All of this conversation piece casts, Yet I plant enlarging gardens. Mother warns and Father mourns; You'll reap what you sew, and finish what you've started. Household horror story, moaning and groaning and talks of hell. Award-winning wintered heart Burned the millionth ironic degree colder. All-american, classical religion; a cult's worried storybook. Gears grinding within a machine fit to sell. The saint stays sinning while I rust nigh twin decades,. Along the way, Cemetery silence and vesper's nine raised my entity centuries older. Salt-water sea folds offer flooring, Riverbed full-house cathedral; blasphemy. I stand and mimic a missionary, touring. Nostalgia. This all reminds me of home, though now it's not we who sit in permanent pews snoring. Forgive my old identity and it's abuse of me. Forgive me and my use of we, That I don't seem dull for my mind's eye's sight strayed... For a few thoughts. Retrospect depicts life lived selfishly in leisure. Mocking, spitting in the kindest face still surrendering, and... I'm lost and content, drowning in thought again. Thought... An infinite, sacred journal. A closet, save a doorknob, because no key is needed inside the bedroom's housing our souls. Where god's children fellowship among the angels. Or those like us fall for demonic hypnosis, with no need to say farewell. Thought. A trap, a gravesite, a laboratory. A map of your life, or the origin of our own self-inflicted boring. Our thoughts are forever ours, under any circumstance. Even those of us that greet the sun on a grim crossway sidewalk, shaking with violence, Internal, external, Cold and wet. To compliment the poetic beaten bones, holding in place sentences scribbled across worn cardboard that whimpers... That whimpers something so human. To regular passerby's this is meaningless and mediocre. To the youth, a sick humor for spoiled wannabe's and jokers. Personally, and with whole heart my pen exposes sorrow, empty of any patience left on a fabled morning for that imagined intersection, or that city. I saw humanity in broken cursive ink, Cursing under sighs I saw what connects it all in my eyes. It will seem radical, and hollow in meaning but I feel there exists substance behind this being's... Expression. I say there is depth. I spoke the universe in my interpretation of the cardboard sermon that read, "I don't want your pity, I want your pennies". Consider with I, 'thoughts', again. I consider, that if anyone were to remember the phrase connecting both, with distaste or sympathy. No war hero, no slave to addiction; The most ancient ideas of enemies, but neither side fate favored on what's given. Be witness to our ignorance, Where one another we could give our petty...nothings. To save a life, or many. To save our world. We submit no rag the value of one single rich, Gift no population with hope to survive and forgive. Millionaire beggars scatter 'round plenty, And their wealth will stay fictional, But don't you agree their thoughts have stayed many. Their pockets are empty, save their thoughts, which are infinite, and continue. Endlessly.

0

Jun 9, 2014

Jun 9, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC

drown

It's All. Driving. Me Mad.

Illegal answers require psychic invasion, Personal opinion poses dangerous hobbies. Thought police outlaw; evasion, Applauds fourth-dimensional bodies. If lifespan be as a labyrinth, And garish men of magicians, Are blessed with luck and wisdom. If we bloom as imperialists, And abandon our traditions, Then it backfired, teaching us to think independently but listen. Some advice screams truth aloud. Too poor, for this is the minority, Now the scene of this ****** thing is crowned. Dim lit street lamps; slow dancing silhouettes. A kingdom falls and it kills the sound. Where we question lies here and there, Here, then there, cancer coated lessons- And long conversation that only wonder of more, hollowing an aged box of danger. It has only taken every single descendants chances, and we've trophied our lack of community. So we've taken up advances, and embraced our anonymity. More secure in loneliness and his companions, Because fear is a world built for lost men with a common trait. Their demeanor cheers: "Abandoned, Abandoned." -Traversing dust-riddled attics, Discovering volumes, the journals of addicts. We make the vices so dramatic, Pray sweet no sinner, leaving gods post-traumatic. Paperback letters, Another waiting for the weekend. Another fix, and I'm complacent. Another deafening regret. Screaming in my ears, My pulse excites, vacation. Animus gone racing. You can't see it, but I swear it's there, I don't know what you see in material things. It doesn't hurt, but it bleeds. Ghost towns, we, The apparitions, have minds so twisted, It's Cataclysmic commonplace, And these are some sadistic statistics. What is the damage? The telephone whispers, almost dead. Another crippling harlot, Internal bleeding, And a few scars left. A question lingers in the atmosphere. Will I die like this? The grass is green, and you can hide in your lies, But know there's not much luck on the other side Now? I don't ******* care, I don't...care. Because all I consist of is a lost cause, A lost cause with burdens to bear. All of this conversation piece casts, Yet I plant enlarging gardens. Mother warns and Father mourns; You'll reap what you sew, and finish what you've started. Household horror story, moaning and groaning and talks of hell. Award-winning wintered heart Burned the millionth ironic degree colder. All-american, classical religion; a cult's worried storybook. Gears grinding within a machine fit to sell. The saint stays sinning while I rust nigh twin decades,. Along the way, Cemetery silence and vesper's nine raised my entity centuries older. Salt-water sea folds offer flooring, Riverbed full-house cathedral; blasphemy. I stand and mimic a missionary, touring. Nostalgia. This all reminds me of home, though now it's not we who sit in permanent pews snoring. Forgive my old identity and it's abuse of me. Forgive me and my use of we, That I don't seem dull for my mind's eye's sight strayed... For a few thoughts. Retrospect depicts life lived selfishly in leisure. Mocking, spitting in the kindest face still surrendering, and... I'm lost and content, drowning in thought again. Thought... An infinite, sacred journal. A closet, save a doorknob, because no key is needed inside the bedroom's housing our souls. Where god's children fellowship among the angels. Or those like us fall for demonic hypnosis, with no need to say farewell. Thought. A trap, a gravesite, a laboratory. A map of your life, or the origin of our own self-inflicted boring. Our thoughts are forever ours, under any circumstance. Even those of us that greet the sun on a grim crossway sidewalk, shaking with violence, Internal, external, Cold and wet. To compliment the poetic beaten bones, holding in place sentences scribbled across worn cardboard that whimpers... That whimpers something so human. To regular passerby's this is meaningless and mediocre. To the youth, a sick humor for spoiled wannabe's and jokers. Personally, and with whole heart my pen exposes sorrow, empty of any patience left on a fabled morning for that imagined intersection, or that city. I saw humanity in broken cursive ink, Cursing under sighs I saw what connects it all in my eyes. It will seem radical, and hollow in meaning but I feel there exists substance behind this being's... Expression. I say there is depth. I spoke the universe in my interpretation of the cardboard sermon that read, "I don't want your pity, I want your pennies". Consider with I, 'thoughts', again. I consider, that if anyone were to remember the phrase connecting both, with distaste or sympathy. No war hero, no slave to addiction; The most ancient ideas of enemies, but neither side fate favored on what's given. Be witness to our ignorance, Where one another we could give our petty...nothings. To save a life, or many. To save our world. We submit no rag the value of one single rich, Gift no population with hope to survive and forgive. Millionaire beggars scatter 'round plenty, And their wealth will stay fictional, But don't you agree their thoughts have stayed many. Their pockets are empty, save their thoughts, which are infinite, and continue. Endlessly.

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