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#excess
Love is the law Told through generations in Churches, Mosques, Synagogues, Temples and Gurdwaras Love thy neighbour; do unto others, and all that The golden rule threading its way into the hearts and minds of who? Who listens? Who takes on board? Who really cares? Would the world collapse if one day I said “No more. From now on I’m being a **** Everyone for themselves, all rules are out of the window; a one person Purge. A capitalist of all time, those Psychogeographical wanderings through the moral maze. Hegemony of me; those that stand in the way trampled into the dirt. Anarchy in the heart, nihilism with each and every action And party like it’s the end of time Do what thy wilt shall be the whole of my law With mind manipulation to the occult ways of the black The heart corroded of meaning; hardened, plaque ridden arteries halting the love and care A higher presence in full knowledge of the deceits of life and its better ways Conditioned to think of others first and the self later or some other sort of **** A Faustian pact with the other side brought to life A drink to your good health The pleasures of life grabbed by the scruff of the neck and wrung to the final drop The scales of justice rusting as day turns into night into day The naked bodies entwined branches of lust and ecstasy surfing the waves of wanton desires Blurred narcotic visions indistinct from the other until time cannot be returned Byronic Blakeian spectral figures holding out their hands of kinship But this corrosion of the self is melting in the mirror of madness Syphilitic mercurial fumes rise from the furnace resting on the brim Deeper and deeper down The depths of the soul eroded for all time Replaced by throbbing notions of unfamiliar reflections The dread of not knowing thyself The attic painting no longer recognisable Full of decay An ageing Id no longer able to get up
0
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 7:43 AM UTC
This Corrosion
Love is the law Told through generations in Churches, Mosques, Synagogues, Temples and Gurdwaras Love thy neighbour; do unto others, and all that The golden rule threading its way into the hearts and minds of who? Who listens? Who takes on board? Who really cares? Would the world collapse if one day I said “No more. From now on I’m being a **** Everyone for themselves, all rules are out of the window; a one person Purge. A capitalist of all time, those Psychogeographical wanderings through the moral maze. Hegemony of me; those that stand in the way trampled into the dirt. Anarchy in the heart, nihilism with each and every action And party like it’s the end of time Do what thy wilt shall be the whole of my law With mind manipulation to the occult ways of the black The heart corroded of meaning; hardened, plaque ridden arteries halting the love and care A higher presence in full knowledge of the deceits of life and its better ways Conditioned to think of others first and the self later or some other sort of **** A Faustian pact with the other side brought to life A drink to your good health The pleasures of life grabbed by the scruff of the neck and wrung to the final drop The scales of justice rusting as day turns into night into day The naked bodies entwined branches of lust and ecstasy surfing the waves of wanton desires Blurred narcotic visions indistinct from the other until time cannot be returned Byronic Blakeian spectral figures holding out their hands of kinship But this corrosion of the self is melting in the mirror of madness Syphilitic mercurial fumes rise from the furnace resting on the brim Deeper and deeper down The depths of the soul eroded for all time Replaced by throbbing notions of unfamiliar reflections The dread of not knowing thyself The attic painting no longer recognisable Full of decay An ageing Id no longer able to get up
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32
i awake from dreams about not eating certain things and eating certain other things  ....i wake i dream sub-marine submariner flossed at sea dreaming i lost the race astronaut untraceable spaced pacing out a heartbeat obscene dreams by the plunderful engorging plentiful digging like a thirst carving out a craving digging like a dog ever unquenchable
0
Jul 24, 2022
Jul 24, 2022 at 9:29 PM UTC
ravenous sleep
Stuck on the actual prime meridian where gambling and grown up shenanigans are viewed all ***** hurting society, though I could legally go to the drain on my street and drop a thousand twenty pees in it nae bother our equivalent bet as high rollers we are surely not I miss you Vegas with your daft anti-reality cushions, the strip with no history or heritage necessarily but with goofy drunken dreams brimming alive and I know vice, bad, horror, addiction yadda yadda I miss you Vegas
0
Feb 28, 2021
Feb 28, 2021 at 10:43 AM UTC
Las Vague
Having trouble adjusting Constant loneliness Experienced it before Never in excess A dream the closest I get to someone Search for a face but still see none Easy making reasons for why I am alone Much harder ignoring truth already known It pushes my ribcage so I can't breathe right Gladly suffocate to keep it out of sight It comes into peripheral without my permission Against eye sockets allegations beyond admission True stories block from my view just in time Deciding to turn and climb Is that urgent buzzing I hear in my ear? With shake of my head I make doubts disappear They fall hard They land in my heart Can no longer deny we are from now on apart
0
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 3:08 AM UTC
Excess Loneliness
Like every *** has a limit So does every existing heart As to the weight of emotions It can carelessly contain. So let not the *** overflow Or the heart over bloats. Do often share sums of it With the hearts that lack it Or you’ll fail to handle The hurdles God throws.
0
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 12:50 PM UTC
IN LIMIT
I am excessive Like the incessant honk of the train blazing down highland Like the rain when I've conveniently left my umbrella home. I do not know how to form a balance Organize chaos Tidy the mess that is I I gorge and tarry
0
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 7:34 PM UTC
israf
I circle around the halo That stirs what lies below. Spinning now Only excess materialises in belief form. What is it about the chimera you construct For those that don’t exist? Gasping and grasping on Slivers from a murdered past You insist on perfecting gems in souls Where there are none. Let it rest my friend … or not For the fury of Zenobia Is still lighting What remains of your life And mine.
0
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 6:46 PM UTC
Fury
there's a letter I wrote you with no address in a box beneath my bed and this isn't a metaphor for the time I spent waiting for you there's scattered words in my head playing like a broken record a collage of tired clichés holding just enough truth to echo the memories of you there's nails on my fingers bitten to the brim for every time your name's been in my mouth and I've tried to wash it down but something about the wiring in my brain has fooled me into believing my excess of love will make up for your lack there of
0
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 9:30 PM UTC
Untitled
fat until I lost some weight now people fear I’ll waste away too quiet ‘til I speak my mind now they’re all ****** wish I would die wear too much black wear pink one day now everyone assumes I’m gay work out an hour, now I’m crazy I take a break now i’m too lazy the truths I tell become a lie all people do is criticize too meek too weak an *** too crass It doesn’t change until I die nobody will be satisfied
0
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
Too...
What percentage of the time do you lie in that bed?      the rest a waste           of the metal springs                     forged by                     factory workers                     pouring in their                     unpaid overtime                     to meticulously                     shape the steel                     into just the right                     comforting bounce      a waste           of the soft cotton cover                     picked by                     (slave-descended) hands                     white fluff                     still echoing centuries                     of black oppression                     spun on foreign looms                     shipped back                     across the seas                     dyed, woven,                     stretched taut                     into just the right                     soothing texture      a waste           of the foam stuffing                     made from...                     whatever goes into                     foaminess...      how many hours wasted?      daily      weekly What percentage of the time do you write with that ballpoint pen?      the rest a waste           of the clear plastic casing                     melded from petroleum                     by corporations                     extracting black gold                     in exchange                     for greenhouse gases      a waste           of the tiny perfect sphere                     rolling smoothly along                     tungsten carbide surface                     exquisitely crafted                     for maximum efficiency                     by man's finest machines                     factories churning out                     thousands by the hour      a waste           of the bright blue ink                     the mysterious mixture                     of dyes and pigments                     and oils and surfactants                     spilling onto the page                     recording your                     delicate thoughts                     in desperate                     existential hope                     they won't be as oft ignored                     as that device                     from which they pour forth      how many hours wasted?      monthly      yearly What percentage of the time do you sit in that reclining chair? do you walk in those polished dress shoes? do you eat with that bent spoon? do you style your hair with that fine-toothed comb? do you turn the pages of your favorite book? do you see by lamp's light in the guest bedroom?      how many hours      sitting unused, wasted?           in a life
0
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
Excess
What percentage of the time do you lie in that bed?      the rest a waste           of the metal springs                     forged by                     factory workers                     pouring in their                     unpaid overtime                     to meticulously                     shape the steel                     into just the right                     comforting bounce      a waste           of the soft cotton cover                     picked by                     (slave-descended) hands                     white fluff                     still echoing centuries                     of black oppression                     spun on foreign looms                     shipped back                     across the seas                     dyed, woven,                     stretched taut                     into just the right                     soothing texture      a waste           of the foam stuffing                     made from...                     whatever goes into                     foaminess...      how many hours wasted?      daily      weekly What percentage of the time do you write with that ballpoint pen?      the rest a waste           of the clear plastic casing                     melded from petroleum                     by corporations                     extracting black gold                     in exchange                     for greenhouse gases      a waste           of the tiny perfect sphere                     rolling smoothly along                     tungsten carbide surface                     exquisitely crafted                     for maximum efficiency                     by man's finest machines                     factories churning out                     thousands by the hour      a waste           of the bright blue ink                     the mysterious mixture                     of dyes and pigments                     and oils and surfactants                     spilling onto the page                     recording your                     delicate thoughts                     in desperate                     existential hope                     they won't be as oft ignored                     as that device                     from which they pour forth      how many hours wasted?      monthly      yearly What percentage of the time do you sit in that reclining chair? do you walk in those polished dress shoes? do you eat with that bent spoon? do you style your hair with that fine-toothed comb? do you turn the pages of your favorite book? do you see by lamp's light in the guest bedroom?      how many hours      sitting unused, wasted?           in a life
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78
I had to leave, I had nothing left to give. Your lust, Had become your must. Your unsatiated desires, Became quagmires. Your continued demands, Hollering reprimands, Had left me hollow , Empty with nothing but sorrow.
0
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
Too Much
An itch, ya just can't scratch, no matter how hard ya try Searching for a perfect match, just an ****** do or die The flesh and the movements, defining each and every one Making some improvements, covert and sexually overdone Always finding in need, rushing too body's desire As dire and ****** the deed, welcoming passion and fire More and more I understand, the cravings and the must As insanity unplanned, reducing love's touch too lust
0
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Nymphatically
It takes some disillusionment and ****** distress for anyone to abstain from bad habits of excess. Some people are caught up very early in life and so can't get beyond them without a helping hand. ________________________
0
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
Quatrain #324 - It takes some disillusionment......
Suit and tie or gold stacked high dreams cast out take root for a few agreed upon reality of desired traits inhibit the minds of never divine mental states stay true to yourself, rebel I'll stand with you challenge your planet with constructs of mind shape it, form it and for you, the earth shall rise
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Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
What they Like
Easy-going energy moguls at Exxon Mobil, Insidiously sip scotch in their ivory towers, They take no blame for the blame is ours, We, the worker bees, were employed to **** the soil, Little did we know it was the hallowed ground under our very own families feet, Now we look towards our homes and see nothing but ash and hell fire, Our collective youth and countless hours of precious life, Traded for false abundance and counterfeit wealth, When it all burns will you still care about your bank account?
0
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
May 5th, 2016
Excess profanity When the day delves into endless insanity Forget therapy! You got all the worst words in the book here!
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Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
Excess Profanity
too much of anything is a bad thing- when I told her of how my teenage cousin touched me when I was three, a Buddhist monk with that mantra squeezed my hand gently. she saw the glow overflowing in my eyes and nodded, as the minutes rolled by the overcast skies in her gaze were relieving. they reminded me that the restraints are only as strong as I resist, so my hands pried themselves from promise and my fingers reached the wisdom clouds above us. they drew the rain and let the glowing flood be just fine.
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Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
Untitled
Rent today, own tomorrow, A world of excess and material sorrow, One likely to accumulate, what we call best, Another will depreciate at their own behest, Peaks arise from man's own wallet, Enslaving children in far away squalor, To keep her entertained, we need not bother, The mother earth in her glorious colour, Defined by time in it's infinite heap, We reap what we sew, and so we reap.
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Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Rent today, own tomorrow!
My skull echos loudly Inside are roaring thoughts Pounding like waves crashing into ships I need quiet, I need tranquility Perhaps if I opened the lid of my scalp I could spill out all the excess noise As I sew my scalp in place Clarity would whisper in my ear "peace is yours dear" Clarity sweeping her delacate fingers across my restless bones The rattling would stop The roaring would silence At the touch of Clarity 's shimmering skin
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Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Clarity
**Unload your vetted earnings     in the collection baskets, small price to pay      for holy water's kickback, God thundered an indignant snort     'pon gold filled prospered coffers       within corporate excesses                     of enriched gaudy churches wondering when HIS word   had begotten misconstrued      in clergy's interpretations       of powers' self-aggrandizement        and pontificating gratification; whilst the huddled masses     were starving midst the pews**
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Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
Corporate Churches
The problem with us people With all of our emotions Overflowing ourselves And spilling into each other Is that while we are stumbling Through our own blind confusion We fail to remember That there will always be things We say but could never mean Outweighing those Many, many things We could never say enough.
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May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
The Scale