#ownership
my final act
you’re the last of many but i treat you like you’re the only one. you exist in my guidelines, my timeline and my space. i am your maker and you eye me with such adoration only a creation can give
you love me like no other
as the pink, blues and yellow sprout from your scene you dance twirl and flip with nothing but excitement.
you shake twist and dance as i extend your limbs one by one
finding joy in this new freedom that only i can gift to you
you are my final act and i cherish you dearly
you hold a special place in my heart and i will never forget you
as i place you in a corner you look up at me with those curious eyes
a creation does not ask why it simply watched and waits for the outcome
you will be content with whatever you give me
you will smile and play and dance in what else i have created
you will find pleasure in it
and nothing else
your corners are limitless to you but are my boundaries
you gallop around them with precision and make no mistake
you are never bored of these corners - no each corner you visit shows you something new
i love your corner
i think they are perfect just for you and only you
you will remain in those corners
no intermingling no reaching out to touch another
you are isolated and you are sad
and a perfect tear comes rushing down your porcelain
i remind that there is no need to fret
you are my creation - i made you
you are my only one and exist in my world
not my entire world - just the part i’ve given you
your four corners
there’s no escape no change nothing new
stick to those corners and all will be well
For I am a mad man and this is my cell
you are truly my final act - my last painting on my wall.
my wall so full of others but none are truly like you
my last drop of life was poured into you and now i am complete
i have suffered this feat, this sentence this life
for in the next one you will be my wife - my companion my everything my only
I promise.
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 4:55 PM UTC
I'll take you out like postmates, my message post entropy.
Your presence be bound to mine when im post atrophy.
When you're still entangled even post session.
I'll order you like apostrophe as a "Post" trophy.
Because it enounciates possession.
You can see the writing on the wall, but you'll be writhing when I fall.
Post human skill as I tie up loose ends for my posthumous ****
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 8:58 AM UTC
He shaved his hair.
Claims no ownership
To what’s gone
While he proudly strokes
What’s left curled up
Above his lips.
“No, I will not shave it
Or share it with anyone.
Definitely not
With a bowl of soup.”
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 1:06 AM UTC
I used to ask all the time
What you wanted me to do
But I finally figured out the truth
It was me not you
'Cuz instead of falling in love with you
I fell in love with the lies
It wasn't what you did I loved
I loved that
you said you'd try
I fell for your words of promise
I overlooked your lack of action
And then I would get mad at you
for my dissatisfaction
But really what the problem was
the thing I couldn't see
Was I fell in love with your words
Not your reality.
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 8:32 PM UTC
so I surrounded myself with stuff
it made me feel better
worthy, an achiever
bolstering my confidence
stuff came through the post
parcels to open everyday
it was like Christmas
stuff was in shops
where people were happy
to help spend my money
it was like they were jealous
wanting to live through me
getting the stuff they wanted
but I was paying
then I began to worship stuff
exclusive stuff
one of a kind stuff
then I woke up
literally opened my eyes
and saw all this ****
how I had coveted it
no friends, no relationship
no emotion, no soul
I was effectively dead
some Egyptian mummy
preserved in a living tomb
full of all all the ****
I'd need in the afterlife
because I had no time
to appreciate it all now
so I sold my ****
to people who were like me
and I looked at them
slavering over my old ****
and I hated them
like seeing my image in a mirror
they were so pleased
carrying off their prizes
not realising it was all cursed
they never owned anything
just stuff someone would
someday
prize from their cold dead fingers
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 6:53 PM UTC
The sun rises over the hills touching everything turning it gold. The dew rises from the cactus as the scorpion rises from it's slumber; surely a sight to behold.
Another day has begun another story is yet to be told. For it has been written so many times it has became a story of old. But today is no different. It is the day the world was sold.
Our protaganist a young man is not carried by the plot. He is not conflicted by his emotions. He needs no changing of his thought. He instead drives the story forward with the unraveling of his soul.
He finds himself pitted between himself and the world. Like a tree that is battered by the wind refusing to fold. He is no ordinary man, he himself has a well defined goal.
Although his expection is not certain he has yet be told that the road ahead is trecherous; it is filled with opstacles and it has many holes.
His plan is to stand his ground and by no amount of money can this man be sold.
If you find this man to be unwilling to change, there is something you must know; this man has been here before.
This man has seen with his eyes just how the story goes.
His countrymen are in turmoil held captive by the idea that a tyrant would have complete power or complete control.
They suffer from hunger for lack of rations. They trust not one another for fear that they may delivered over to the one that is in control. They our desperate for a hero
But little do they know that one of them would spark a fire that would trigger a movement that no authority on earth could slow.
Rumors of his valor would spread across the land. Surely this is he that would take the stand. All to soon would the time be that a man would rise to power. That there would be a new king in the land. One who could break the powers and fairly distrabute the wealth by the turning of his hand.
The people were filled with hope while the weak could barely stand.
His movement grew in numbers his trust would cascade in the enemies betrayal amongst themselves. Even the powerful tyrant's minions would show support for this man.
The moment was here so fast as if it were controlled opposition. Now it was time for the peoples voice to be heard. It was time they take a position.
Put they're trust in man or support the opposition.
As you would guess the choice was all so easy, so many would say. Little did they know that would be when they gave what little they had left away.
Plunged into chaos for the people had been betrayed. This man was not they're hero. He was the embodiement of they're willingness to give it all away.
-RSC
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 4:14 PM UTC
The clock on the wall is busted
I don't think I'll fix it
What causes the hours to fly?
Maybe our trespass to count it
The clock on the wall is slow
I don't think I'll speed it up
Why am I always so stressed?
It could be I am possessed
The clock on the wall has stopped
I don't think I'll start it
Why can't I not be still?
Perhaps that machinery is my ill
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 9:22 AM UTC
What if I allow myself,
to be myself,
while still being happy?
What if I stop
being the bully,
and become cheerleader full time?
What happens when I just trust myself
as a default?
Well then I guess,
I'd be free.
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 9:27 AM UTC
Music doesn’t belong to me
It never has
I thought I’d discovered it
Well, actually I did
It’s just that others
Had gotten there before me
I wanted it to be mine
Because
It made me feel
Special
Resplendent
Alone but
Less so
So many dead musicians
So many unborn
So many much better than I
It’s ok
Because I
Discovered music
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 11:18 AM UTC
Who owns grief?
The one who cries the loudest?
The one who acts the most disturbed?
Or asshole-ish?
Or eerily withdrawn and quiet?
The one who had The Best Relationship with the dead?
The most unresolved?
The one who feels the most guilt?
Who feels out of place at the funeral?
Who resents the world?
Who is named in the will?
How many people can have a share?
Who is allowed a say on the Board of Grief?
Are children underage?
How powerful are the grieving?
Enough to command a neighbor’s chicken soup?
Casserole?
Cake?
Family heirloom?
House?
Family entire?
Telephone call?
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 3:33 PM UTC
Hey there,
my darling Debt,
how is it
what's yours
is not necessarily mine,
yet what's mine
is already yours?
Feb 1, 2020
Feb 1, 2020 at 7:29 PM UTC
Did I
Provide the cause
With all my flaws
To take ownership
For these faults
Jan 19, 2020
Jan 19, 2020 at 2:30 PM UTC
This vessel is not yours,
But the wheel will still turn
Under your hand.
She creaks at your step
As though you may break through
Her soft Swiss boards.
She is stronger than you.
And she is still yours in part.
Do not forget that this
Is the only reason you do not
Crash below her decks.
She may turn for you,
But you are not welcome
Under the floor you let rot.
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 9:54 PM UTC
you think that flowers are pretty and the forest
smells fresh and they are all made for you
just for you. you think that the green grass is soft
and the seas and skies and sand are all for you.
you think that nature is generous and kind
and good and pure just like you
i also wonder about humanity’s ever-increasing
records of stupidity, their eyes blind with anger
entitlement suspicion frustration the heat of rage
miniature suns burning and blistering and
destroying everything they see touch anything
in reach, thinking that all is theirs and theirs is all
they don’t see the blood on the floor and the
bodies lying all around. they step on them like
pillows on a road, rolling over them like the stones
they are, don’t see the teeth and eyes and edges
lying all around, all the traps biding their time,
waiting to crush a few pebbles
the true monster has yet to show, eyes shut
but not asleep, dormant but not oblivious
waiting in the shadows of the air and the black
days that the humans pass by like the stones they
are, blood pooling bodies rotting, and the humans
can’t care won’t care couldn’t care less as they
continue to fall
time is ticking and so is their patience, a silent
bomb waiting to be free of the grasps of dirt
and soil soiling its body, when finally nature strikes
back, strikes hard, as the humans fall ten by ten,
grass blades flying and petals dying, when nature
reclaims what has been stolen
nature will come back, and erase humanity like
moss on a stone, eating and destroying and
poisoning their already heavy hearts and souls,
dragging them over down into the earth, till
their blood has replaced theirs and their bones
have melted back where they came from,
and humans finally realise the moment just before
they fall from the earth, that it was all in their minds
they never owned nature, they were the ones that
needed her
nature never needed humans
they’re just mouldy stones at the bottom of a
fish tank long forgotten
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
"A child may not be
considered a piece of property-
only the child possesses genuine rights
the Right to be respected as a person
from the moment of his conception"
He was born in the year 1964
A world on the brink of splitting open,
On the edge of revolution, progress, protest
The stained glass windows speckled from the rain
Incense and old wood covered in fingernail imprints
Matching those on the sides of his arms
A small choir singing hymns of Salvation and Praise
His mother nudges him "stand up straight, eyes forward"
A mind wandering from the homily on Sacrifice
To the images of bombings in Hamburg
Adorned with black and white collars
Gripping an unlabeled wine bottle
The children sprinted through the wooded trails
Mud spattering across their legs and dress shoes
The others spun in circles, as if trapped in jewelry boxes
Their ankles dressed in pink ribbons
This was no place for innocence and imagination
But one of penance and prayer
He kept his toy cars and trains in a green metal box under his bed
It wasn't much, but they were his
Through them locking him in the closet for hours
And being told to not speak unless spoken to
The times of self expression, of emotion, feeling
Shamed and forced suppression - turned to repression
These cars and trains, they were his
Mental illness is a myth
Suicide is a mortal sin
We decide who you are
You cannot feel
Kneel down
Be quiet
Say your prayers
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 4:49 PM UTC
Dolly, Dolly, play with me
let's braid your curly hair
dress you up and take you out
where everyone can see
Dolly, Dolly, sleep with me
let's curl up here in bed
I'll be your warmth if you lie still
and give in to my every dream
Dolly, Dolly, look at me
why do you not respond?
I'm calling you, Dolly, dear
why aren't you returning?
Dolly, Dolly, I'm sorry, dear
I haven't time to wait
my fingers ache, my body breaks
I must be leaving here
Dolly, Dolly, buried there
six feet under my creation
Here Lies Dolly, Beloved Plaything
played to death by strangulation.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
Foam and froth
Ebb and flow
Moon and sun
To and fro
You and I
Yes and no
You said yes
She said no
You blamed me
I blamed you
When you left
I pulled through
When I fell
I fell hard
You felt bad
Sent a card
I forgave
Took you back
All the guilt
Broke your back
You proposed
I said yes
You designed
Your best dress
Honeymoon, of your choosing
Saw you watch teenage floosy
Catered to your every need
Watched as I got on my knees
Taking care of someone else
While you watched, and pleased yourself
Now I'm taking care of me
Feeling fine and feeling free
Taking care of whom I please
On my back, or on my knees
Wistful sea or waning wave
I fulfill that which I crave....
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
You. Are. Mine.
You punctuate each word with a ******
Words you need not say
But knew you must
Engulfing me, owning
Your warmth, your caress
Like dusk devouring the day
You. Are. Mine.
I want your words inside me
Drowning me, owning
Like waltz between my thighs
Keeping a pace
Like saying goodbyes
You. Are. Mine.
Marking every inch of my precipice
For one last time
Before you relinquish me
Like loving you was a crime
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 4:05 AM UTC
Even the best laid plans go wrong,
The unexpected comes along.
Before you know it, suddenly,
You are in new territory.
When that happens what do you do?
Do you give up or see it through?
'Tis a decision you must make...
To give up or a risk to take.
You may decide to take a chance,
To fly by the seat of your pants,
You might stick with it, come what may,
Just let the chips fall where they may.
Or choose to play it safe you may,
Retreat to fight another day,
Decide the risk is just too great
With too much left to chance, to fate.
Perhaps it is a hunch, your gut,
The weighing up of ifs and buts
That helps you reach a decision
That which for you is the right one.
You and you alone have to choose
And whether you win or you lose,
Your reasoning to you is known,
The decision but yours to own.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC