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#disenchantment
we heard them talking about a meteor shower expected later that night highly anticipated set to accompany the rust red supermoon that we caught following us home lay down upon blankets a meagre effort to provide at least a little comfort while we witnessed this astral magnificence the significanceof which none of us was certain childishly imagining a spectacle from the dazzling of shooting stars trailing tails like fireworks pointing in wonder appearing briefly before burning out instead we found ourselves staring up at one of those countless spots of white slowly unenthusiastically drifting across the stratosphere it could be a meteor maybe just an aeroplane or simply a twinkling trick of the light yet still we watched without excitement without direction without relevance
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Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 10:17 AM UTC
meteor shower
There were warning signs to beware, great walls you had to climb, more parcels inside, sealed with labeled reminders to handle with care. That a wrong cut of a wire could trigger explosives, that the place wasn't just fragile, it was also volatile. There's a reason why from miles away you'd been told to keep your own distance. Why this wasn't just something you could happen to stumble upon, but a shipwreck, a paper town, a lost city you needed to find. When it dawned upon you that this was not paradise, but a haunted cemetery of some kind, you snuck your way back to the hole you fell into; burning the place to the ground, like the ones who came before you.
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Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC
Frail
I don’t know why I want What I want from you As if I had no other option Than to fall back into this addiction As if you were the only choice I have The only voice I hear Among all this noise I know you’re not right for me But every time we get closer You abuse your power And take me over With that influence You have on me That doesn’t make me think clearly I don’t trust my judgment anymore I don’t even care to pretend Everything is under control I just want to be alone But I can’t do it if you keep showing at my door Standing there so tall Looking at me A fairytale prince That makes me want to believe One last time Or at least one more night You ask me one last dance One more chance to make it right We could be king and queen To rule the world Or even this empty town But our time has run out The spell is broken now And you disappeared without notice As I expected And all I am left with Is disenchantment.
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Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
Disenchantment
Sitting together, Leaning close, The electricity, Lighting the neon, In your eyes, Gazing into mine, Seeing nothing, Which was all it took, To turn off the current, And **** the light
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Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
The Light
We watch with disenchanted eyes As the future comes to pass us by What once brought joy Is revealed as lies And brings to light The turmoil inside We stagnate in our hollow lives Lost from us are the enthusiastic drives A dark cloud to eclipse the sun Our childhood illusions Have come undone A restless soul in human guise Dreams of freedom slowly die With heavy hearts and severed ties We see a future with blackened skies And in the dark we see A life lead in melancholy We travel the world as ghosts Untouched like waves on the coast We glimpse the night Through jaded eyes And a world brought to fright As we fall asleep to silent cries
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Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:57 PM UTC
Childhood Lost
I'm going to stop acting like I know anything And slow down on the ***** And singing blues I don't know much My thoughts are all feelings My heart is in my head Reality fills the voids Left between Saccharine dreams Who am I? I don't know anything I can't trust my instincts I need input My eyes are depleting Who am I? The autmn wind Upon your face Feebly wispering Who am I? Love drunk boy Lost in the universal last call Of copresence In a human kind Buffering Your body Your face Your skin Your hair Your essence Your personality Your touch Buffering Has left me only Saccharine dreams
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Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
Saccharine Dreams
it's a miracle (you said you said) it's dark, unmade in your backyard we're only young, halfway there infant hearts and hardened hands we're only floating, only here and (I remember it forever) you asked me where I see the stars I said in you, my love (always) I guess our time is spent, so (I, I always knew it anyway) in your backyard we're starving, new and so (in breaking we are clouds unfurled) I guess for the rest of my life, my love (I'm blowing smoke) I'm moving on we are only children, only young in looking we are u n b r i d l e d (so hold my wrist and I'll hold you) it's a miracle (I know I know) so this isn't what I wanted or this isn't what you meant and I guess for the rest of my life, my love I'm spitting tar I'm holding strong it's a miracle you said you said and (I never was as pretty as the sky)
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Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
sayings for the disenchanted
Death is boring. Dark, cowled and skeletal, Exuding a mysteriousness that she fails to fulfill. Her goals are one dimensional Though myriad in her often creative Approach. Creative after an eternity of Collection. God is almighty. What can you give the man who has everything? Your faith? Omnipotence... Safe bets are seldom captivating. Unless you’re a criminal stacking the odds While your fellow man takes the dive For your gain, Your glory. Buddha is just a man. Enlightened. He accepted Death’s embrace, And God’s divinity Thrusting aside the Devil’s whispered Temptations. Yet Buddha was just a man. The Devil whispers the sweetest dreams His voice is a silk melody Dancing along our nerves Touching our forbidden parts “Take her, she wants your **** Plunge into her moist depths Sheath your spear, Spill your seed, ****** hard Then soft Find release in her moans Peace and heaven in her trembling touch. Her moist lips part But it is not your name she sounds Her voice once radiant with lust With desire Now drives a shard of hate within, through your still rapidly beating heart. Cupid speaks another name Once hard now limp Pull back, pull out your flimsy **** Look down into the empty depths of her eyes See in them another man Her hunger is sated Bruised lips mouth the apology your ears refuse to hear Yet your heart laid bare just moments before Is pierced anew. Laugh it off but The Devil has his hooks in you Another carcass for the heap She is the hook, you are the meat Butchered The lost leading the sheep to slaughter Do not fret, you are not finished Soon you will rise a phoenix from her cooling embers Golden and resolute Stronger for having licked her poison Yet you will know that you are now A stranger to yourself You are the hook Find him some meat The Devil hunts again.
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Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
The Devil has Style
Death is boring. Dark, cowled and skeletal, Exuding a mysteriousness that she fails to fulfill. Her goals are one dimensional Though myriad in her often creative Approach. Creative after an eternity of Collection. God is almighty. What can you give the man who has everything? Your faith? Omnipotence... Safe bets are seldom captivating. Unless you’re a criminal stacking the odds While your fellow man takes the dive For your gain, Your glory. Buddha is just a man. Enlightened. He accepted Death’s embrace, And God’s divinity Thrusting aside the Devil’s whispered Temptations. Yet Buddha was just a man. The Devil whispers the sweetest dreams His voice is a silk melody Dancing along our nerves Touching our forbidden parts “Take her, she wants your **** Plunge into her moist depths Sheath your spear, Spill your seed, ****** hard Then soft Find release in her moans Peace and heaven in her trembling touch. Her moist lips part But it is not your name she sounds Her voice once radiant with lust With desire Now drives a shard of hate within, through your still rapidly beating heart. Cupid speaks another name Once hard now limp Pull back, pull out your flimsy **** Look down into the empty depths of her eyes See in them another man Her hunger is sated Bruised lips mouth the apology your ears refuse to hear Yet your heart laid bare just moments before Is pierced anew. Laugh it off but The Devil has his hooks in you Another carcass for the heap She is the hook, you are the meat Butchered The lost leading the sheep to slaughter Do not fret, you are not finished Soon you will rise a phoenix from her cooling embers Golden and resolute Stronger for having licked her poison Yet you will know that you are now A stranger to yourself You are the hook Find him some meat The Devil hunts again.
Continue reading...
66
The world is dying As we keep trying To assimilate To accept our fate And drown our fears In a stranger's tears But we are one We let our own blood run When we wound We become doomed.
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Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
The world is dying
i arrived in this world with no map to guide me but the palms of your hands. you let me hold them sometimes, and they’re warm and inviting. sometimes you make me feel starry-eyed with your words, or at least that’s what you used to do but i’m waiting for you to send me constellations of goosebumps running down my arms and spine i will shape myself into an amateur cartographer, and make it an active point to mark places on the map that we’ve been to together, and as i trace my fingers across towns and mountains we’ve yet to cross, a part of me wonders if we’ll even get to any of those destinations because somehow you’re staggering and i don’t know why or what’s holding you back still i persist, i yearn for adventure. i leave the map unfurled and smooth the creases of my sudden remembrance that i came here alone. i made my own decisions and ran into you in the meanwhile. you too, were a wandering traveler. your feelings as nomadic as your feet on these lands. i wouldn’t call myself foolish to have ever gotten involved, but you are embedded in my memories. a new story for me to flesh out every time someone asks me how i got here or there. i’ll keep meandering from town to town, but no longer will i seek you — you may find me. i realized this was not your map, but mine.
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Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
ferdinand magellan would be proud
You put more effort into your job. Think about this. Let it sink in. You don't love your job. Often you don't even like it. You don't look forward to it. You don't write happy status updates regarding it. But you do put more effort into it. You dress nicer. You're often kinder and quicker with a compliment for your colleagues. You're nearly always on time and considerate of others needs and wants. You do your hair, put on a suit, paint on some face. Imagine if you did that for your family and loved ones. Imagine getting up in the morning and making the effort to look your best; no lulu lemons or tank tops and shorts. Imagine putting on a pressed shirt or dress just so the person you love can see you looking great. Imagine showing up on time for friends events with a small gift in hand. Imagine caring as much about the people you love.
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Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
Imagine a Different Way
The lost drown and smoke your words away Hidden behind layers of a self-induced fog too thick to be heaven’s curtains, Yet too thin to be effective. I hear your whispers Soft melodies of melancholy Ripple down my spine More paralyzing Yet akin To a car wreck Birthed by the same vaporous spirits I used to hide behind. Now I choose clarity. Mindfulness The Buddha showed the way Is it easy to follow a path first lit over two thousand years ago? Ask me again tomorrow. Today those whispers like tiny devil worms sneak along My spine delivering emotions and thoughts Not mine. And I am lost Helpless as they take my mind And defuse my spirit And giggle as I follow Rome Once great, forgotten, found but never resurrected. I defy you Voice inside my mind. I see you I hear your whispers and acknowledge That I am not your author. Be wary Be mindful Because I too whisper Of a love stronger than your hate.
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Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
The Voice Inside My Head
I think I should write more. My head is fuzzy with the unspoken words Of the nameless creatures whom Spew forth nonsense and melancholy. Purge. Now there is a word! An emotional release not unlike Coming to fruition. There it is again, Lust and *** and tulips Not daffodils, certainly not the rose Are you as lost as I? Aimless spurts of feelings Thinly covered with sheets of paper The ink like blood, seeps through A stain of truth that no one can see Except you, my love.
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Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
I think I should write more.