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#disharmony
I live in an optimistic room. A facade of shaped mirrors. A shell that lingers, marked with scarred runes. A hell where a demon lies dreaming in his tomb. Ambling about an amiss womb of ignorance my nature is twisted. I resisted a restless pessimist who has insisted I entered into a house of horrors! Where hubris is heavenly and pain is pleasure. Guilt is a given and treachery means treasure. My sins surround me. Too slothful to even pluck the fruit my gluttonous hunger devours an empty hand. In this way, pride and lust also follow suit. My avarice is of envious repute, but of the things I envy I cannot refute. One last forgotten folly. An abandoned demand. A deep, abysmal pit is the seat of my soul. Fiery wrath now frigid. Instead of a furnace an empty hole.
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Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 5:52 PM UTC
Funhouse
Stop Falling backwards I wanna spend my love on you got me doing all the things I do investing time and faith in you you gotta do, what you gotta do holding down listless commentary sifting through every memory of us building up, holding my breath just to take a moment of you in Stop falling backwards take us to the here and now momentum breaking down I wanna spend my love on you distilled dreams caught me thinking untold sights and sounds, dancing around in the clouds questioning this way we livin' Stop falling backwards If I could surmise us a plan That wouldn't take much to bring us out of, it.. complacent, adjacent but never close enough, to you Oh, you.. Stop Falling backwards But I know where I wanna spend my time and all I wanna do, all I want.. I wanna spend my love on you
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Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 7:34 PM UTC
Momentum
These are not ***** words, Accord Concord Detente Engage These are European words.
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Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
03.04.19
The gray arch stayed, broken It could not survive the fall Now it's here; in ruin If only I could've saved it. I've seen this arch a thousand times Been here before I was born Civilization loved the arch But now, they're gone. I did not know where they went I hope it was somewhere nice. Wildflowers grew near the arch Yellow, orange and green I picked them up; then dropped them Now's not the time for flowers, I thought Then walked away. The fall was devastating I did not know what happened, but Destruction lay in its wake. And desolation was born.
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Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
Arch
Run the bow across the strings, and play a tune. Play my soundtrack. Play it soft yet sharp and wrenching. Play it in the background. Let the notes run in conflict, depict agitation and foster an increasing sense of foreboding. Because I lay still this night in perfect disharmony.
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Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
Disharmony
Five of us sit together Four are boys Three are gamers Two are sick One is me
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Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
Tumult
A chair in the corner sits huddled with the shadows, while a second chair lowers itself by the door. A window between the chairs hangs silently on wall, as the curtains whisper with the wind outside. Towards the left of the window is a shrunken bed, with bedposts like redwoods and the body of a willow. On the bed is a bundle of fabrics and tweed, twisting and spinning amongst eachother. Joining the first chair is a spindly wooden table, with wobbly fingers and with only three legs. The top of the table is clustered with trinkets, pinecones from Alaska and feathers from Pompeii. Littering the floor are denims and glass, clothing and pieces of vases strewn under the door. Thrown under the second chair is a pair of old shoes, weathered and worn and left to die. On the walls with the window is doodles and sheets, drawings of childhood tapped in the space. Paintings on the plaster are dusted with flakes, burdens of memories of past and future. In the center of the room stands a coat stand of mahogany, standing tall and strong in the ruins of its lost kingdom. Unaware of what goes on outside of his window, all he knows is the dust and objects trapped with him in the room.
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Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
The Room
Before, I wrote of Masks. Mutilated stories of written flesh. A carnal retelling of misfortune, In the pages I wore upon my face. Now, I am just another Mask. A solo sonnet amongst scoreless faces Beyond them, a broken boy Hostage to disharmony.
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Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
Faces of Disharmony
*There is no darker side of the room There is no air left in to breathe There is no light, there is no sound When left alone with such feeling as these Because When one person feels But the other doesn't There is only darkness Back to back And the silence therein in between*
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Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
Back To Back
"The worst things: To lie in bed and sleep not. To want for one who comes not. To try to please and please not."                  -- Egyptian Proverb It fades in and   fades             out The     meandering    song of despair.      Fading what  once     caused The frequencies to harmonize. Random patterns   desperately      Random. Her  moods   weave    in           counter To my intense     focus in   the refrain.         Our symbiotic   gazing across the room At the  rhythmic  blue   light  Illuminating Denials elusive      fingertip touch Fading into yet another    impossible dream. The notes are still     laid out on The well-weathered pages. The movements    still moving    gracefully On a near anti-climactic      stage. All that is   needed   are the instruments And patrons of means to employ A symphony    suffering long On a soulless      listless     frequency  band Made only to vibrate complete But is now   caught    in   this      jumbled loop In a now    out-        of-        sync  universe.
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Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
Song of Despair
Of the unaware dreamers, Hearts are held breathless In mid air, shunted in light Below lips that lie a bed, Hairs stand on ends break Drowning with eyes shut, The flesh that burns cold Knows only heats of mind And dreams smothering, Like so few words alive. In the love room blankets Reveal dark in coverings, The fingers tally bone dry, Touch, chafed and strafed Like nails sanded and cut, Two hearts so long gone, Untethered, playing foul, Both agreeing in isolation That death has two smiles Frowned, in the love room.
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May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
In the Love Room
. Of the unaware dreamers, Hearts are held breathless In mid air, shunted in light Below lips that lie a bed, Hairs stand on ends break Drowning with eyes shut, The flesh that burns cold Knows only heats of mind And dreams smothering, Like so few words alive. In the love room blankets Reveal dark in coverings, The fingers tally bone dry, Touch, chafed and strafed Like nails sanded and cut, Two hearts so long gone, Untethered, playing foul, Both agreeing in isolation That death has two smiles Frowned, in the love room.
0
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
In the Love Room
A Schism is only insurmountable as an illusory obstacle within those who are, in and of themselves, already fractured.
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Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
Schism
Of the unaware dreamers, Hearts are held breathless In mid air, shunted in light Below lips that lie a bed, Hairs stand on ends break Drowning with eyes shut, The flesh that burns cold Knows only heats of mind And dreams smothering, Like so few words alive. In the love room blankets Reveal dark in coverings, The fingers tally bone dry, Touch, chafed and strafed Like nails sanded and cut, Two hearts so long gone, Untethered, playing foul, Both agreeing in isolation That death has two smiles Frowned, in the love room.
0
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
In the Love Room
When the mind is in conflict Nothing pleases the heart Every resonance creates disharmony Echoed from the sharpest edges The conflict is amplified in the soul Not aligned with the universe Conflict of the mind takes over
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Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
The Conflict
*Conquer the disharmony That creates ripples on The veneer of silence From the depths Powerful chants resonate This world within An inspiration to quell The disturbances Savor the silence And feeling of nothingness You have emptied yourself Of all the disharmony Now, only powerful silence And you are one With the cosmic harmony*
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Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
Cosmic Harmony
you were a reckless tearaway arriving to take the heat with a debt reckoning in Sunday skies marked for duckbill clips of dark filled entries on its balance sheet a challenging force I felt I had to account for a raincheck that I wanted to cash in on before the heavens opened and blew me away knocking at my door for a riot of rebellious adult licence needed love to be let in you agree we meet outside in the gathering storm for there's a multitude of conflicts to be resolved stark contradictions and that's what excites with you there's upsetting imbalance involved upending equilibrium with blunt direct questions and reactions like a Luddite with the mind of a librarian so that I never quite know where you're coming from but know the answer is next written bold on the sheet which has your signature on I predict with a scrawl but that you think is kinda neat "throw me every strain of emotion you can pick up" and you do and your wake never lets me down propelling a wet film wind machine should I withstand its crazed delivery? those sheets of rain that blew in off the bay you always try your best to tear across I feel them shooing the air into my lungs winding up branches faster and faster like a toy plane rubber band dancing in my hair this way then your way until it stood on end scared to not go on and on the way of so many plucking ideas drawn from the spoils of let's-play-chicken arts found on the tables of tattoo parlours when the shades roll down and pages flick quickly as dices roll out extremes in exfoliating salon sport close shaving loose leaves off every hairpin bend and scratching the bald patch ever more bold as if you liked transplanting bulbs follicles in deep crimson beds of eye poppy temperatures gone wavering impossible to ignore in a flash of eye shadow from a bouncy bobbing weaving pony tale conductor keen to take on electric vaults showing me a pair of high heels whatever I ****** at your scurrying reins my grasp like a wind slipping through a shake of tussled vanes black curls of wild abandon whipped up into a shift dress in shades of grey flight centred in misplaced miss red lipstick outline worn to a fade over the top of the roots rushes **** the breeze with pollination as full on as a full Brazilian headdress collected from a gazillion dipping flowers a rainbow opening to shower off it's end in privacy high pitched screens little cover in those shorts of ours from a summertime blanket of rain which you turned up to cloud my thighs always thrown over and folding your way ace-of-spade cards played torn and ragged with bare laced love thrown down with on-the-river sneers cornered with those winking semi-colon smiles open ended to point out the end will be fun but I get your gusting gist in the mean time determined to wheedle the worst in me out which looking up is on its way now and when the lightning will stop dancing is a rough reckoning I'm not ready to say but in the eye of this exciting storm it's clear not tissues not anything need wipe these slate skies clean from our trail blaze my tearaway
0
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
My tear away in the storm clouds
you were a reckless tearaway arriving to take the heat with a debt reckoning in Sunday skies marked for duckbill clips of dark filled entries on its balance sheet a challenging force I felt I had to account for a raincheck that I wanted to cash in on before the heavens opened and blew me away knocking at my door for a riot of rebellious adult licence needed love to be let in you agree we meet outside in the gathering storm for there's a multitude of conflicts to be resolved stark contradictions and that's what excites with you there's upsetting imbalance involved upending equilibrium with blunt direct questions and reactions like a Luddite with the mind of a librarian so that I never quite know where you're coming from but know the answer is next written bold on the sheet which has your signature on I predict with a scrawl but that you think is kinda neat "throw me every strain of emotion you can pick up" and you do and your wake never lets me down propelling a wet film wind machine should I withstand its crazed delivery? those sheets of rain that blew in off the bay you always try your best to tear across I feel them shooing the air into my lungs winding up branches faster and faster like a toy plane rubber band dancing in my hair this way then your way until it stood on end scared to not go on and on the way of so many plucking ideas drawn from the spoils of let's-play-chicken arts found on the tables of tattoo parlours when the shades roll down and pages flick quickly as dices roll out extremes in exfoliating salon sport close shaving loose leaves off every hairpin bend and scratching the bald patch ever more bold as if you liked transplanting bulbs follicles in deep crimson beds of eye poppy temperatures gone wavering impossible to ignore in a flash of eye shadow from a bouncy bobbing weaving pony tale conductor keen to take on electric vaults showing me a pair of high heels whatever I ****** at your scurrying reins my grasp like a wind slipping through a shake of tussled vanes black curls of wild abandon whipped up into a shift dress in shades of grey flight centred in misplaced miss red lipstick outline worn to a fade over the top of the roots rushes **** the breeze with pollination as full on as a full Brazilian headdress collected from a gazillion dipping flowers a rainbow opening to shower off it's end in privacy high pitched screens little cover in those shorts of ours from a summertime blanket of rain which you turned up to cloud my thighs always thrown over and folding your way ace-of-spade cards played torn and ragged with bare laced love thrown down with on-the-river sneers cornered with those winking semi-colon smiles open ended to point out the end will be fun but I get your gusting gist in the mean time determined to wheedle the worst in me out which looking up is on its way now and when the lightning will stop dancing is a rough reckoning I'm not ready to say but in the eye of this exciting storm it's clear not tissues not anything need wipe these slate skies clean from our trail blaze my tearaway
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