#frantic
Financial Roulette
You feel the threat
Of all your debt
When you must play
What bills to pay
You must decide
As you abide
Your state of bills
Forget the frills
How will you eat?
Its all a feat
What gets paid late
Til' shut off date
Next month, repeat
Which makes you retreat;
Run for the hills
And not pay bills
Your account is dried
your card declined
not much to say
theres just no way
sell your asset
rather than fret
Financial Roulette
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 7:47 AM UTC
My body jitters like a cage full of trapped sparrows. My bones vibrate with a thin metallic ringing, as if someone struck my skeleton like a bell and forgot to stop the echo. My heart is not just beating, it is everywhere, ricocheting through my wrists, my knees, my teeth, a frantic percussion stitched into marrow. I do not know what happened. One moment the world was steady glass, the next it warped like heat above asphalt. I zoned out and when I came back the room had grown strange, tilted slightly, like gravity had been tampered with.
It has been hours. The clock crawls, stubborn and slow, but my body refuses to settle. The air feels electric, prickling against my skin like invisible static. I lie in the dark with my eyes open, watching the ceiling ripple into unfamiliar shapes. Sleep stands somewhere distant and unreachable, a pale animal at the edge of a frozen lake, watching but never approaching.
It is three in the morning and the night feels enormous. My nerves spark like frayed wires. Frustration burns under my ribs, a hot coal that refuses to dim. Anger coils through my chest like a storm serpent searching for a place to strike. Confusion spreads through my mind like spilled ink, blotting everything into strange, indistinct shapes.
My thoughts race in circles, frantic comets trapped in orbit. I want to scream. I want to tear the silence open and let something out of me, something loud and violent and bright. My body feels like it might burst into a thousand startled birds.
But nothing happens.
The room stays quiet. The night stays still.
And I sit here trembling, a vessel filled with too much thunder.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 3:32 AM UTC
There’s a lot of heat when all eight
of us suite-mates get together.
I might have mentioned it somewhere.
We’re like surround sound,
eight car alarms going off together,
it’s jabberwocky by an established team.
It can get frantic and maybe frightening
for the uninitiated or inhibited.
Some of us are pretty boy-crazy
and there’s a mix-in of twinkling girl-crazy too.
We’re basey, bugzee, spaceheads and freaks,
yeah, we're the whole emotional spice rack.
“She’s a good person to **** time with,”
is pretty high praise around here
because we have so little free time.
But these are good people to **** time with.
And we’re portable, we travel, we invade,
we’re crazy young women who’ve got it made.
So if you’re coming at us, trying to enter our enclave,
you better be brave or a situational upgrade.
.
.
Songs for this:
No New Friends (feat. Sia, Diplo & Labrinth) by LSD
Lysergic Bliss by of Montreal
Freedom Is Free by Chicano Batman
.
.
slang…
basey = a cool loser, nice but a bit odd, a ****** with style
bugzee = slightly crazy
spaceheads = people who talk about weird things
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 1:56 PM UTC
I sit here,
Like a beetle on it's back
In a crack of it's own design
Crafted it's own demise
Frantically flailing
Panicking mainly
Legs going every witch way,
Becoming to heavy
To reach out for help
No voice to call out for help
Though it tries
Not knowing it's already dead
Hope is the first thing that dies
Moments from the cruel hand dealt
By life itself
Exposing itself
As deaths right hand man
Still we fall for the bluff
And the universe doesn't listen to
"Enough is enough"
If you don't like it
Tough
©2025
Jan 22, 2025
Jan 22, 2025 at 8:53 PM UTC
~for you, girl~
words have definitions; shades; moods,
even within the contextual moment,
the coloration sometimes is discolored,
one person frantic is another’s
normal
passing fancy
insanity
quiet
overwrought silliness
frantic is a continuum’s conundrum
and oft the hubbub coverhup lends
a veneer of urgency importance
when knowledge acquisition is iron
irony, best when well chewed, quietly
considered and consumed with the
perspective of addition and subtraction
what we know is more than yesterday,
and less than what we will one day own,
for the only purity of learning is that’s
final refining is never ending
the artifice of deadlines,
gradation vis-a-vis
all the rest, is not a
distinction worthy of
distinguishing
your human value is beyond compare
exactly!
the greatest of valued adders to the world body of understanding put the race of
ego to one side, and so should we all,
not
be ****** in by the imposition of qualifiers
you are quality, and that is the only
qualification you will ever
acquire and require
and in my naïveté
I reflect looking back
and give you here the
free use thereof,
of its worth, you will
determine
but in summary judgement:
always keep thinking
ridicule is ridiculous
but best when applied
by oneself to oneself
with a
*** did I really think:say that?”
and laugh out loud at our human
foibles, especially our own,
with a wry smile, admitting
some of things we conjure up
in all seriousness are
are the funniest things we’ve ever heard
Dec 5, 2024
Dec 5, 2024 at 11:13 AM UTC
The remnants from every last past bunch
Of confrontation and confusion with such and such
Pile up till it becomes too much
I panic, then in a frantic desperation motion I reach out to clutch
At a drifting safety line I can no longer touch
In a rush I removed both legs to manufacturer a crutch
Sometimes it's hard to translate a hunch
©2024
Jun 5, 2024
Jun 5, 2024 at 6:04 PM UTC
I'm not a good lover, no good at hand in hand
Never not been exposed, still I pretend
The real me casually breaks free,
What do I do then?
No suggestion comes in
It's what goes around then comes around again and again,
When will it end?
Nobody knows...
...I let no one in so no one knows the situation
I'm not a good adult, I'm not a good friend
Never not been exposed, why do I still pretend
The real me awkwardly breaks free,
What do I do then?
I suggest hide the specimen within
It goes around then comes around again and again,
Is it going to end?
Nobody knows...
...search and rescue called off for no reason
I'm not a good man, I'm not a righteous person
Never not been exposed, I've given up pretendin'
The real me aggressively breaks free,
What do I do then?
Didn't we call each other friend?
What goes 'round, right 'round comes right 'round 'round again and again,
It's just not gonna end
Nobody knows...
©2024
Jan 26, 2024
Jan 26, 2024 at 4:43 PM UTC
every time I close my eyes,
my life beats behind my eyelids
like the wings of a butterfly
as questions form the rhythm
of a song that constantly plays.
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 10:10 PM UTC
I've been playing music so loud,
no matter what I do, my thoughts never sink and drown
I haven't lived a quarter of my life
yet every day feels a little shorter
I'm scared.
Time feels as if it's fleeting but, it's dreadfully slow.
How fast does this pace go?
I'm still not good enough,
it hurts
No one is chasing me.
These shaking hands can't hold a spoon;
I'm forcing myself to take a spoonful of knowledge,
to be something...
someone
Jun 15, 2021
Jun 15, 2021 at 8:10 AM UTC
I've been playing music so loud,
no matter what I do, my thoughts never sink and drown
I haven't lived a quarter of my life
yet every day feels a little shorter
I'm scared.
Time feels as if it's fleeting but, it's dreadfully slow.
How fast does this pace go?
I'm still not good enough,
it hurts
No one is chasing me.
These shaking hands can't hold a spoon;
I'm forcing myself to take a spoonful of knowledge,
to be something...
someone
swallow
no, don't.
you ended up vomiting;
isn't it great?
It's too early to soar high, bound by a plastic cage.
I stood by the lake and left myself to drown.
.
.
.
.
stay there for a while
Jun 15, 2021
Jun 15, 2021 at 8:06 AM UTC
Billowed down onto natures bust
a face full of dirt
a mouth full of maggots
corpsing coercion onto frantic plates
slopping up the juicy details
derailing off the tracks
into a new train of nature,
saving only what comes of value
yet, you don't save yourselves.
Lucrative hands slithering softly by
ready to steal your life with just a touch
how much are you worth?
Unfortunately, nothing.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
................................................................................................
If there is somebody listening, please let me know,
so I can shield my thoughts so you don't get lost.
It's a twisting, weaving, nightmarish maze in my head.
Don't listen so closely, you won't like what is said.
*If I drive into this pole I would-
DIE yeah I know that brain thanks for-
PLAYING with his heart! She's playing-
GAMES which game? What do-
YOU want to know? How much wood-
WOULD anyone care if I jumped off a cliff-
RATHER than learning how to fly, I just-
AVOID the treacherous oceans of my-
MIND the gap, mind the gap, mind-
THE best of times, it was the worst of-
TIMES, divide, subtract-
ADD a face to a name and see its-
LIES that stab me like swords and I-
CRY from happiness, the world is okay.*
If there is somebody listening, please let me know,
so I can shield my thoughts so you don't get lost.
It's a twisting, weaving, nightmarish maze in my head.
Don't listen so closely, you won't like what is said.
................................................................................................
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
The panic is building inside,
Making it feel like a rollercoaster ride.
I thought that I was happy,
But now unlocked feelings have set free,
Leaving me with inner conflict,
Unsure which direction to pick.
My stomach tightens at thought of action,
While my former strength loses traction,
One moment I want to flee,
The next moment I am proud to be.
What am I running from this time?
Would playing hookie be such a crime?
If it meant discovering this truth,
And abandoning this depressing sleuth.
I want to shake off this darkness,
Before I am left feeling sparkless.
I want to break down these walls,
Before another part of me falls,
Leaving me a shell of myself,
Hungry for knowledge and lacking wealth.
I must invite the light in,
So that this darkness will spin.
I still feel the rumble of panic,
Leaving my thoughts helpless and frantic,
Encouraging motivation to flee,
So I can be alone, and free.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
If she
did hollowly
aggress me
in distemper
she's but
a shoe
in these
oboes then
a girl
as somebody
that shan't
belay my
forethought in
ways that
shapely her
heart that
matters more
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
Am I the,
Artistic type?
The one who sees the world through a different lens
who turns sounds into colors
and sites in to Smells
into feeling
and two children running are not children running
they’re Happiness
Joy
their giggles turn into Yellow and Pastel Pink
turn to Sunshine
turn to Waking
turn to Serenity
Relaxing on the beach
where you can hear the baby blue and white waves
and see the soft calming sand slipping through your fingers and toes
turning to…
Maybe-- I am the,
Partying type.
Ragers
Dance Grinding
music Pounding
the same beat of our heads
of our bodies
flashing lights
the dark and the heat
Wild
Drinking Screaming
loving one another with our bodies
not caring who it is
because
our bodies don't care
if we are in sync
what is the difference
the same…
What if I'm the,
Frantic type?
the Busy type
Scrambling, Rushing
time is something I don't have Time for
running is my Past
if only I had Passed Time
noise flies by
not looking anywhere but straight
car horns, buildings, wind blowing
the sound of friction across my own skin and the skin of those like me.
that is my Familiarity
Air I do not Breathe
it flows through me.
it hits me and I consume it
I do not Break for it
I cannot Break for it
I…
How about,
the Silent One?
nose in a book,
hearing the voices in the background.
looking up occasionally, to see the others.
see their confusion.
their Hindsight is my Foresight,
I understand what will happen before it does.
because,
I've seen it before,
I can look ahead,
see the outcome,
slow down the world like it's a video in an editing software that I can stop.
Slow down.
Rewind.
Rewatch.
that I can…
Perhaps,
I am all of them.
Perhaps,
it doesn't matter.
I can turn the sounds rushing by me hitting my skin into color
I can separate time into partying and people watching
Both are possible.
life doesn't have to pass in one form,
it can be Technicolor
and Beautiful at the same time.
sound can pass into colors
and life can either Fly
or Pause-- and drag on.
Either way, it's okay--
because it's me.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
I wash my hands constantly, as the smell of anything unnatural makes me uneasy. I smell the tips of my fingers and the palms of my hands nervously; the smell of metal, carpet, and reluctance all trapped between my fingers nauseate me. I run to the sink and pump soap into my hands before frantically rubbing them together, forming as many bubbles as possible.
I only like my hands when they smell like soap or oranges or lavender.
I have nightmares about you during the day. I sit awake and wonder how much of you was real and how much is just sound that I created in a desperate leap for love. The leap I swore I would take over and over again.
There is paint on my arms and my hands right now and all I can think about is how i wish I were an artist
I wish i could draw myself into things the way I can push myself into things that hurt
My mom told me I am brave that I am fearless that I just do things
but I think I am reckless with myself
the way I run into pain face first and tear into it with my fists over
and over again
I have never been afraid of change
The way pain rolls over you and makes your stomach convulse
your whole body week and your sobs so huge that they don’t make sound beyond the frantic gasp for air at the end
I have always been to proud of being human
for some reason I think that the way I feel the way I live is somehow monumental
running into things over and over again
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
maybe it was worth it and maybe when I first saw it coming I saw something less like an ending and more like a beginning because you know, for the astronomical chances to completely align, once when they called for the end of the world, and a second time when he crossed my path like the broken revolution of Pluto, is to call for a complete set of anomalies to ensue and maybe that wasn’t it at all maybe it was just a crazy twist of fate that was meant to teach the universe that you can have what you want but it comes at a price because even when the world wasn’t ending there was no such thing as forever and shortening people’s forevers makes for a whole lot of desperation maybe that was it maybe it was desperation but no matter what it really was, I’m still here in this mess of ands and maybes that spin me around while the end of the world is hurtling towards us at so many light years an hour an hour an hour of time I don’t have time anymore but I’ve got to tell him I love him I’ve got to tell him I love him I’ve got to tell him I lo
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
Brush your teeth!
Brush your hair!
Fix your dress -
No no! That's not what you were told to wear.
Clean your bedroom,
Dust the stairs!
Mop the kitchen!
Careful, clean with care!
I thought I told you
To buy new towels?
We can't hang out these rags,
They'll think us fools!
There is dust on the cupboards
This just won't do!
Where is the good China?
For goodness sake we will have to start anew!
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 8:18 PM UTC
We have let go of our frantic lust
for the shiny metal in the Sacramento hills.
It was hard for my grandfather,
in coming west on horse and with wagon,
dragging a family across the pimpled skin
of the young land, to help John Sutter
build his new empire.
He then found that his dream of good land
for ranching was subverted with easy gold.
Grandfather’s first home on the bank of the river:
a tule hut, or grass hut, left behind by
Mi-wuk Indians, who wandered with
the elk and circulated with the
wonderment of passing stars;
no regard for what shined beneath them.
It’s in the luring poems and the stories that the
old California adventure comes back to us.
No one longer builds much with grass,
and cannot so easily pick out fortunes
by following the earth’s deep cracks.
Some would walk away from jobs and cities,
bulging packs strapped on shoulders,
and head up through the openings
and narrowings of the valleys,
and into the foothills of the Sierras.
Camp beside ****** trout holes
and dip into the riffled water
at the edge of perfect green mirrors:
to find what is precious and become
free from the cycle of the frantic lust.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Nightfall. Half-closed eyes
Shattering stars. Daylight cracks
In melancholy cups, in ambient air
Coffee slithers, lungs smolder
Hurricanes sing to raindrops
Rabid bottles, prancing shadows
Footsteps glide, sideways sways
Sobered by non-existent memories
The pale goddess smiles. Dreams
Behind scheming walls. We dance
In a place of vertical confusion
Future's past quickly slips away
Whispers. Bays of broken chords
Forgotten winds. Ruminations.
Transient scribbles, dusty tables;
On misty panes. Forgotten. Decay.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Ever catch yourself
caught between
the light and dark?
Has the stark contrast
blinded you, both
from lack of
and abundance of
luminescence.
Ever rounded a night corner
and prayed that the road
materialises beyond you;
that it follows the path
the very way you
imagine it?
And have you ever felt utterly ALIVE in that
frantic millisecond of uncertainty?
I have.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC