#washes
"I am a poet"
That is what our ego tells us
What we tell others
What others desire for self
What we desire to hear
So they tell you that you are
Quid quo pro
We stroke one another
Manus manum lavat
When I die I hope "they'll" say
"A poet has left us"
But then as now
I will not know it
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
I'm so lit
you get a fake tan
of my words.
But there so fake
that it washes of quickly...
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 3:27 PM UTC
[BLAST BEAT]
I want to draw The Tower, instead I draw The Star: I want to crash, instead I keep sailing in the wind.
My wings keep moving even though I remain static under.
Sailing to the same points like the small ready-knots, (ready-knot, i.e., the invisible atom that doesn't move but look as if it is moving because of our eyesight; didn't you pay attention when the world was created?) though I am the 10th house, the macrocosm.
I cover my face with my hands: my wings keep moving: I cover because fear.
I bite the skin on my knuckles.
I wish I could fall apart: I wish I could tumble like a grain of sand down the dune into a pile of build up, yet someone won't let me collect.
Sreda throws me into His hurrcaning gales, I remain the same. The Monad rotates me over His fire, I remain the same.
I step over Your coal, Your knives, Your deluge; clumsily, yet I do.
My wings keep moving: everything I have could fall apart, my wings keep moving, and I cover my face out of fear.
You can call me the lamb, you can say I don't listen, you can call me weak and misunderstood, you can call me the small turtle dove, for I cover my face out of fear.
Though I don't want it to, my feathered sails glide through the skyscape; though I can't control it, I sail through white and blue; though I don't want to, I sail through nebulae tinged with unfinished fevers;
I peak through my fingers, eyes bright as a new-born cosmos, and I sometimes examine the pretty color of You, Father of Shine, and I sometimes study the tracks of You, Prince of Buoyancy. [BLAST BEAT]
I peak through my fingers, rain drops fall through these cracks, and I sometimes like the feel of your rays, Sun, and I sometimes like the feel of your winds, Mercury.
I stay far and cold and remaining: my wings keep moving, I keep sailing.
* [note]
I speak to you, the world, and to You, the avatar and the avatar:
feeling special again, please, someone put me in my place /
the monopolization / the vanity / the selfishness /
look how many I's are in my name:
feeling special again, please, someone put me in my place.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
kindness makes its own bed-
leaves everything neat and tidy.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 9:55 AM UTC