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"administers" poems
Pickled on quixotic tonics he strives for a polyglot's poise, balancing plaster peas at the end of his tippler's tongue. But the rough-surfaced pearls prickle his too-ticklish bed of pink, and gulped down, he administers only a lessoned indigestion. Flipping the flop, he prevaricates himself into the tight-fit corners of a parallelogram traced by unsolemn processionals bedecked in platitudinous finery. Their porous smirks drip sticky reminders of a plethora of previously pernicious exercises and dampen his fluffy ambition, prodding procrastinations until his drunken promise dries out to become a posthumous wish.
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Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
Pickled
The shadows get frighteningly long, he watches in silence like a painter whose mixed up colors in the palette are found to be of no use, the pictures are muddled by inept handling of colors. once colorful skyline is suddenly pecked in to pieces by winds, the belligerent evening birds in discord; the child playing in the park now gives up her carefully structured house, receiving cues from swarms of darkness, looks at her mother as if she isn't  interested, anymore, as if feeling the encroaching loneliness. "Evening is a spoiler of beautiful things" he jots down on the page of the day in his mind "it's  enticing beauty is just a masquerade" a truth he would vouch as a fact of life. It's time to be back home, the dusk falls holding mom's finger she goes back to the lighted space of warmth that has an assurance of kiss any moment, on his way she sends a smile, just a stranger till two days before, as if saying "See you tomorrow" this little one is a fresh guest of breeze a pure blessing, sunshine rare in winter. This rusted garden bench knows him well, the fragrance of mango blossoms from a land distant in a season long past still spreads the scent of musk touches somewhere deep, brings memories from a land so far,  a land where evenings were spent under the shades of mango trees in exhilaration, awaiting the mango fruit season. A change in the lighting of sky overturns everything. time administers it's hidden poison drop by drop, the memories of an evening from afar asks in a feeble voice "Will the child come to the park to play tomorrow again?"
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Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
One More Evening
The shadows get frighteningly long, he watches in silence like a painter whose mixed up colors in the palette are found to be of no use, the pictures are muddled by inept handling of colors. once colorful skyline is suddenly pecked in to pieces by winds, the belligerent evening birds in discord; the child playing in the park now gives up her carefully structured house, receiving cues from swarms of darkness, looks at her mother as if she isn't  interested, anymore, as if feeling the encroaching loneliness. "Evening is a spoiler of beautiful things" he jots down on the page of the day in his mind "it's  enticing beauty is just a masquerade" a truth he would vouch as a fact of life. It's time to be back home, the dusk falls holding mom's finger she goes back to the lighted space of warmth that has an assurance of kiss any moment, on his way she sends a smile, just a stranger till two days before, as if saying "See you tomorrow" this little one is a fresh guest of breeze a pure blessing, sunshine rare in winter. This rusted garden bench knows him well, the fragrance of mango blossoms from a land distant in a season long past still spreads the scent of musk touches somewhere deep, brings memories from a land so far,  a land where evenings were spent under the shades of mango trees in exhilaration, awaiting the mango fruit season. A change in the lighting of sky overturns everything. time administers it's hidden poison drop by drop, the memories of an evening from afar asks in a feeble voice "Will the child come to the park to play tomorrow again?"
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36
My Principal is forever ready to explore New things from students who implore And set a new goal for them to outscore In their own life. He is ready to restore Intellect and discipline in school therefore Stands out and administers students’ footsore. Cherian sir the one who is fighting war Against anxiety and worry on door, Which pester children and occasionally gore Their morale and self-esteem. They spoor Away from study which he sojourns before They reach to larger extent and be cocksure. Never he criticizes without any reason poor, As he is a positive thinker. All of us roar Which is pacified by him but for sure. He is the man of principles and decor Whose blessings on all of us ever pour.
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Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC
MONORHYME ON CHERIAN SIR
i dont get it i dont get us sometimes im not sure i get anything it might just be my downfall; trying so hard to grasp it all helplessly adrift, i fee like a rag doll. people have the gall to portray what they are not, we fight for equality when honesty is an anomaly, give credit to the pathetic while the empathetic medic administers an anesthetic so ***** can save a life, unnoticed but focused on which celebrity, out of Beverly who got another synthetic appendage, unsatisfied with their genetic aesthetic over utility delusion over reality we as a society coward away from reality
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Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
delusion
You are the enticing novel I love to curl around on a rainy day Like a steaming mug of hot chocolate You thaw the freeze covering me inside You are the never ending box of tissues Dabbing at the overflowing crest of my tears. It’s as if you are the doctor Who administers me my medicine You are my sanctuary, my confidante, my love But most importantly, You are mine (K.R.S)
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Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 3:40 AM UTC
Mine
Her lipstick venom with a blood stained tank top, I'm an upbeat victim on a vertical bed, shackled and locked. She's my sinister nurse she administers pain, like a clinical curse swiftly corrupting my veins, one eyes forced open, one eyes sewn shut, one heart gets broken while the other one's left covered in blood. Asylum love fell for her shy little smile, tried to bait me in for her next human trial. The sickness goes viral as I'm lured to the test room, my senses bloom like I'm probably dead soon. I barely could think, let alone could I contemplate, that my own fate was to be shatter by the first date. Forgot where it went, all the love in her locket, guess we've been spent by the drugs in my pocket. I looked to her eyes like she had something different, only to realize that my lenses were twisted
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Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
Thought She Had Green Eyes
Forgotten - she falls apart. She curls up on her side of an empty bed. His memory burns her eyes as his touch had stained her skin. She cries, "Lord, let me hold him, one last time." She buries her head in her pillow as she would have buried her head in his chest. Too tired to keep fighting, her lips barely muster the strength to whisper that she loves him, as she says goodbye. In a desperate attempt to alleviate her pain, she administers herself a lethal potion of sedative-hypnotics and alcohol, drifting her into a deep sleep where she is no longer bound by suffering and freed from the possession of her demons. He found her tightly clutching her pillow. God, if only he had told her how delicately beautiful she was. In that moment, he was just as broken as she and tears tenderly flowed down his cheeks. He walked over to her and kissed her on her forehead. "Lord, let me just tell her that I love her." He sat next to her on the empty side of the bed and held her hands in his - one last time
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Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
One Last Time
incite expletive insides erupt medial temporal mediates chaotic administers quell regain yourself doctor jekyll
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Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
Faculties