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#deterioration
I am a witness of a consistency dwelling customary, someone that now, attuned to the subtle signs of decay.
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Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 10:09 AM UTC
Your Deterioration
there will never be the time so can i say something hurtful can i sink my hand into your chest do i even have the power like you would ever say but i want to never see you again i want the notifications to stack i want to live a different life and i wonder if my doctor would agree and i wonder if youd just let it happen and if that would make it better make it easy if you could just never i just want to say it i just want to say it is this as good as it is going to get should i quit while im ahead as if i was ever anything but two blocks behind at least i was always looking forwards but the trouble is i never looked both ways so what is all of this even worth when my body has become my grave
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Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 3:48 AM UTC
doctors orders
watching for air                              a mad thing of static to do unwashed  i hold it all foreign   my perspectives clothed as the enemy an agreed muscle of tension       with pockets fracked into my hands  i look out the window   wide agape guidance                                                     invasive drills of heat   the giving sunlight ; punishing, a tree,   the grieving buildings the whinging of cicadas and here i am     watching for air one point for the weather                                                       one point for the view                                                             one big point for my ****** condition                                 one point for the passers by and their galling dramedies and there it is ; the wiry plan that's built                         from one small tickle of wild thought                                                formed long ago trickling to the current day some whipped wit of poisoned psychology                fed to the inbreed   (welcome   you panting imp) decades of saved up fatty layers a deed   of habitual sediment retching until the tide laps become still    a cured and congealed gladness marbled, a butcher would say i am full and hearted and heated and padded senseless         turned under a heel   with my wastrel history   i’ve accomplished this     a stifled condition                                of poisoned obscenity seated deep        almost fully incapacitated   in my armchair   on this chummy day my leisure clothes greasy     sluck against my blemished hide a packet of cigarettes   to my side rounded upon  by sounds of the neighbours affairs with a gasp of energy   i 'skin one off' vigorously my system trembling   with years of hard liquor borderline   to a state of unconscious whelm retained final       prime for ignition i could manage a spectacle a blinding flare                                   a glorious incineration and the release                       of my true oder i light a match for my cigarette
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May 29, 2023
May 29, 2023 at 6:54 PM UTC
a prayer for combustion
watching for air                              a mad thing of static to do unwashed  i hold it all foreign   my perspectives clothed as the enemy an agreed muscle of tension       with pockets fracked into my hands  i look out the window   wide agape guidance                                                     invasive drills of heat   the giving sunlight ; punishing, a tree,   the grieving buildings the whinging of cicadas and here i am     watching for air one point for the weather                                                       one point for the view                                                             one big point for my ****** condition                                 one point for the passers by and their galling dramedies and there it is ; the wiry plan that's built                         from one small tickle of wild thought                                                formed long ago trickling to the current day some whipped wit of poisoned psychology                fed to the inbreed   (welcome   you panting imp) decades of saved up fatty layers a deed   of habitual sediment retching until the tide laps become still    a cured and congealed gladness marbled, a butcher would say i am full and hearted and heated and padded senseless         turned under a heel   with my wastrel history   i’ve accomplished this     a stifled condition                                of poisoned obscenity seated deep        almost fully incapacitated   in my armchair   on this chummy day my leisure clothes greasy     sluck against my blemished hide a packet of cigarettes   to my side rounded upon  by sounds of the neighbours affairs with a gasp of energy   i 'skin one off' vigorously my system trembling   with years of hard liquor borderline   to a state of unconscious whelm retained final       prime for ignition i could manage a spectacle a blinding flare                                   a glorious incineration and the release                       of my true oder i light a match for my cigarette
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41
Mispronounced chaos sways With its ellipsis misplaced And taking away Its own verdict That was left displayed Its own hole Grown From displacement Carrying concrete Like broken shoulder blades Mispronounced Mismatched Deteriorating outcomes Commonplace is then found In its unity Disuniting it all
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC
Displacement
His eyes were as blue as the sea, they sparkled as he played with his young granddaughter. He beamed as he watched her grow up, he would never be able to express his adoration for her, and she would never be able to do this for him. Her heart sunk as she watched him grow old. When she was younger she’d always joke that he’d live until he was a hundred years old, that age was creeping ever closer. They saw each other daily and chatted as if they had all the time in the world. She couldn’t imagine a life without him… She had always thought he was invincible, but over the years his face had become hollow, and he began to become short of breath. She vowed to make the most of the time they had left, she promised she wouldn’t view him differently, the only difference now was that it was her job to look after him, rather than the other way around.
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Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
Age
Of all the words I never got to say there’s still three that haunt me to this day. They’re plaguing my skies to turn them all to grey, I wonder if you ever would’ve felt this way. I’ll make this cryptic so it stretches it out real long, less descriptive but the message still stands too strong. But it sounds so light that it’s become a song; You were right, you were never wrong. Of all the feelings I still have these in my chest, weighing down the muscle slightly above my left breast. First I thought it a lesson but now I believe it’s a test, to see if I can beat my head and get some rest. Read between the line, when I say that I’m doing fine, and try to translate my foreign sign, if you care enough to devote the time. I’ll make this cryptic so it stretches it out real long, no intent to be vindictive but the time has come along. My fear; I’ll fight, even though I’m too headstrong, you were right, you were never wrong. She said to always look at the stars especially the ones that shine so bright. I’ll keep the memory for my reservoirs, but the constellation was her in my sight. You weren’t wrong, you were always right.
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Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
Those Three Words
I, tired synecdoches For exhausted sadness. I, fragmented animus, (……….)Stilled air in a mutiny, (……….)Sent afloat from mine eye. I, aimless bounty Missing bligh. (……….)I, nimble crumbs, (……….)Too mouldy and dry To be scraped off the floor Into bins, out of sight. I, Too perilless, Too stagnant To die. (I, tired)
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Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
I
The point beyond exhaustion The place where you no longer hunger for the comfort of sleep You'd rather stay awake through another agonizing night Letting your mind run wild with obscenity You'd rather be conscious through the pain out of spite This is the point beyond mental deformity The place where isolation is more than meets the eye You'd rather be here alone, with no one to distract you from your self destruction This is where you keep the torn pieces of yourself from sight You'd rather be quarantined from their pollution This is the place where you come to write
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Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 3:43 AM UTC
The night
We reached our peak so we’re off to sleep The singing summer’s now humming a lullaby. Tuck yourself in, while I search for a new sin I’ve already caught your yelling yawn. The autumns nye and I a dying leaf Still green, but barely hanging from your tree. I’ll wrap myself up, in a hat and gloves But your cold will still nip at the spaces between. There’s no shield from the shredding of love So I’ll sweep with the wind to better things.
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Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 4:15 PM UTC
Deterioration
I try to put on a front that I'm okay, but what they don't know is that the image of you with a gun in your mouth has never left my mind. It haunts me, making sleeping difficult and waking impossible. While the days go by, I appear to be more and more okay, when in reality your absence is making me weaker and weaker.
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Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
Deterioration
rewind; replay     we're standing in a canopy of sunlight     and laughing, constantly.     our faces are tired of moving up     but our eyes are used to crinkling;     they fold, and shut, and open like buds     with the spread and shrink of our grins, in     and out, with our lungs. Pauze. Zoom.     Your nails are chipping now, but You're really a halfwit, So that doesn't deter you the least bit     From scratch-scratch-scratching at their shook ends: They fall apart as we fall out.     We're spinning, we're dizzyingly quick,     Hurtling at the speed of 28,800 kilometres an hour; we're brisk     At best. (Inconceivable at worst.)     And I can feel, already, you slipping away.     You're outside of my grasp; you're far out. rewind; replay.     We're ripping at the seams;     Our faces are like bad make-up     That doesn't move with our smiles;     Our eyes stay impassive,     Uninterested at best. Incensed at worst.     The crinkles in their corners are crusted     And new folds form on the frowns of our foreheads.     We're smothering each other in pillow talk and blankets. Flash-forward, play.     We're bathed in rain, we're in a     Canyon, in a chasm.     We don't know salt from wound     Or snake from bite. We Bring out the worst in our best selves.     We're drowning in suitcases and bedding.     We let it fill our lungs and we     Don't look back.
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Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
Record
rewind; replay     we're standing in a canopy of sunlight     and laughing, constantly.     our faces are tired of moving up     but our eyes are used to crinkling;     they fold, and shut, and open like buds     with the spread and shrink of our grins, in     and out, with our lungs. Pauze. Zoom.     Your nails are chipping now, but You're really a halfwit, So that doesn't deter you the least bit     From scratch-scratch-scratching at their shook ends: They fall apart as we fall out.     We're spinning, we're dizzyingly quick,     Hurtling at the speed of 28,800 kilometres an hour; we're brisk     At best. (Inconceivable at worst.)     And I can feel, already, you slipping away.     You're outside of my grasp; you're far out. rewind; replay.     We're ripping at the seams;     Our faces are like bad make-up     That doesn't move with our smiles;     Our eyes stay impassive,     Uninterested at best. Incensed at worst.     The crinkles in their corners are crusted     And new folds form on the frowns of our foreheads.     We're smothering each other in pillow talk and blankets. Flash-forward, play.     We're bathed in rain, we're in a     Canyon, in a chasm.     We don't know salt from wound     Or snake from bite. We Bring out the worst in our best selves.     We're drowning in suitcases and bedding.     We let it fill our lungs and we     Don't look back.
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37
It's too late. You're already in. In my skin, Crawling around, Throwing in my face The very truth Of the deterioration Of my existence without you.
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Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
In My Skin.
january "i love you" "i love you too" march "i love you" "love you too" june "i love you" "you too" december "i love you" "too" january "i love you" "..."
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Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
deteriorating love
When the sweet not-so-serious, is all that you have left as the glue holding you together. It's doesn't take much pushing off to fall completely apart. It doesn't take much new, to begin to be forgotten. If not drool from a better treat, wet tears from long retreat.
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Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
Sugar Dissolves
one step back (we've devolved) two steps forward (we've devolved again)
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Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
dissatisfaction around every turn
I knew, right then.... We c o u l d  h a v e had e a c h  o t h e r
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Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Revelations (10w)
We don't live life Life lives us Deterioration, breaks, cracks Lives us out until we can live no more Takes all our energy, saps all our strength, courage as it demands Takes, ruthlessly, unforgiving It wears us down, like sandpaper does the rough wood that will one day be the dining table, worn, dented, gouged, used, Old, wrinkled, soon to expire A new generation in every birth, Born to be lived, worn, used, deteriorated And so it goes.
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Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Lived
i roamed into darkness as the moonlight shed its light in the dusty panes of the old temple. were the tombs of a thousand pages unmoved, of unseen things, of obscure meanings from his little grey cells. and caressing the yellow plates, fingers ran into deep vacuums to glean the transcendent thoughts, the laws of common sense that he often uttered in this temple a perpendicular impulse hovering in the shadows, laid still, holding on to his immovable designs, unmoved.
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Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
a thousand pages unmoved