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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.    like cardinal Leto remarked, having received news from Versailles... why is it always the ******* French?

perhaps in a less crude manner,
drinking wine,
while eating raw fruits -

  always a bad combination...
no *****, no meat?
   bad idea... wine, and raw fruit
akin to strawberries?
    irritable bowel movements...

- and that's because Einstein
didn't discover the concept of
gravity, in the format of: sideways?
in the form of orbits?
   expansive waves...
   that allowed for the elliptical interpretation?
like the old
              argument:
      (heliocentric) oval...
             contra the (geocentric) circular
"concern" for...
   whatever is up / down
            sideways in
      the Copernican terminology...
because there was ever a "shape"
concerning the universe,
  and not a medium,
            an extraction for the metaphor
for water,
   gas, liquid, solid...
              and the fourth aspect
of ancient elements:
   its existence in a vacuous "space"?

- but i can't fathom the French at this point...
once upon a time...
one Frenchman equated the motivation
for a "summa summarum"
    to be bound with a thinking,
and a curiosity...

            the current fashion of Latin
abbreviations...
   this... cogito ergo sum?
   it's nonsense...
    speak it long enough...
   and you'll find yourself inclined
to suppose that cogitans per se:
is a motivation, an impetus to exist...
yet... so much of thought it "wasted"
or, rather, to craft an impetus to
"doubt", within the confines of fiction...
but the motivation has lost its
origin within the confines of doubt,
and has been replaced by
the Freudian unconscious,
   a serialized phobia fest... notably
including a, clown...

originally, thought (per se) was
a secondary motivational outlet
that precipitated into being...
    first came... doubt...
   but... these days?
               doubt is a conspiracy theory,
no longer an emotional thrill
to prop-up thinking...
   and we have the French existentialists
to thank for this...
for they subverted their own
idea...

             negation has replaced doubt
as the origin, and motivation
for thinking...
        yet... this sort of "thinking",
has made, its materialization, so, so...
obscene...
    i can hardly find it surprising while
i took to propping two worthwhile
economic outlets...
   prostitution (since they will spend
the money i give them...
on things... i wouldn't even care
for propping up)...

    and... alcohol (scotch whiskey,
russian standard *****...
    shveedish cider...
                     german beer)...

but how can you even claim an existence,
if...
       there is no thrill...
of what is the secular expression of faith:
i.e. doubt?
  how can you replace doubt -
a motivation for thinking, materialized
into being... with negation?
  jean-paul Sartre attempted this inversion -

doubt has been replaced with negation
in his system...
             it's like that cliche of an English
1960s ***-joke / ***-like...
       this... frivolity over a blatant lie...
a lie so... bogus...
    so ineffectual in translating a hidden truth
that... you allow it...
   to care for the cheap comic aspect
of the execution...

but how can the French suddenly
feign to disbelieve their secularism -
   resorting to the antithesis,
namely:

  original

  doubt motivates thinking,
  which subsequently motivates
   being within the confines of reason,
or rather, reasonableness...

20th century existentialists

negation "motifs" thinking,
   which subsequently motifs
"being" within the freedom of non-reason,
or rather, unreasonableness...

   and by negation,
   i don't mean the atomic conceived softening
blow...
   akin to: dis-ease...
    i.e. (as i explained it to one old man
in a park, walking his dog):
  a negation, or ease... a denial of...

how can the Cartesian model work,
when the 20th century French existentialists
began with the presupposition:

   i deny, i think, therefore i exist?
where is the original thrill of
the secular aspect of faith, within the boundaries
of doubt?
              gone... vanished!
****! a **** on the London tube,
during the rush hour,
  during the heatwave
                of the past month!

                   perhaps this only comes
as a method of assimilating an increased population,
within the confines of the Taoist maxim:
the best way to aid the world,
is to forget the world, and let the world
forget about you...

             perhaps... the Andy Warhol 15 minutes
analogy...
      that in order to encompass the individual,
the world, and the individual within it...
   the approach had to change
from the original, exciting, exploration
genesis of thought, bound to the genesis
of doubt...
             having to be replaced by
a genesis of denial...
      the second tier of a secular society...
    the zeitgeist of Herr Censor...
to filter through what we see so often,
faces, bodies...
  but would be much more comfortable
having been bound to Plato's cave,
         of complete shadow theater...

perhaps... but the original tier of
secular societies' alternative to church prescribed
articles of faith...
                     to have replaced
the thrill of doubt...
      with this... Byzantine pillar of denial
as motivational groundwork for
thinking impetus
   that becomes an article of being?
am i the only one to see the frustration,
how, people abhor their being,
being founded upon an act of denial,
rather than an act of doubt?

     the once thrilling maybe (gnostic):
   has become the stale, "i don't know"
    (agnostic) - as if... people can't tell you
whether zebras have stripes!
   where there was once an article
of secular faith (doubt) -
   now?
                        there's not even that!

p.s.
  there has to be a much needed new mantra,
all publicity: is bad publicity -
unless of course you're riding that
fame juggernaut and are paying
for your all-inclusive status akin
   to madonna: since fame dies off
and you, none-the-less invest in the momentum...

one day where i drink a bottle of wine,
half a liter of whiskey,
   and i'm apparently not "screaming" in
my sleep from the heat,
the whole, "apparently", as i retorted:
at 5:15am? i was alseep! i was asleep!
how can i stop screaming in my sleep
like a banshee:
the sleeper and the blind man both see
eye to eye regarding the future to come...

one day without engaging in internet
content: of my own accord,
next day? this... this... lethargy builds
up in me... i end up thinking:
i can't do this any more,
this insomnia culture globalism of
24h news reels is tirying me,
i pick up the sunday newspaper
which i found to be respecteable...
the sunday times,
  i peer into the magazines...
toxic masculinity,
    desire: what three women want...
i'm bored...
well more tired than bored,
bored-tired...
                 what women want:
what an exhausting question...
**** fantasy, beta-male provideer...
yada-yada-yada...
                    
    the only relaxing aspect of the day
(apart from the shade) is watching
england beat india in the cricket...
i always loved cricket sport terminology:
50 overs... innings...
wickets... 6 throws of the ball in an over...
the rest? i'm no atlas...
i don't like the world crashing in on
me with all its problems...
not because i don't have the right
advice to give,
but i remember the most modern secular
motto about giving advice borrowed
from Athos of the creation of alexandre dumas:

the best advice? to not give advice...
you cannot be held accountable
for giving bad advice: and people complaining,
or good advice and leaving
people in your sphere of influence...
asking for more - non verbatim... of course...

second categorical imperative?
tao...
              the best way you can help
the world: is to forget the world,
and let the world forget you...

                        you only need two absolute
maxim vectors to orientate yourself
in this world,
a third is nice, but: it can be kept loose...
at least two on a tight leash...

but one night spent drinking,
not writing anything:
and i am... spent!

                            the boogieman of england's
persistent complaints...
the muslims are not integrating,
the english: we should give them more
ground...
           o.k., o.k.... joe peshi in the role
leo getz in lethal weapon II...
            i too had to integrate!
i said: like **** if you think i'll give up
my native tongue when spoken in private...
you're not getting it...
i'll spreschen ihre zunge, no problem,
i'll even write you pwetty free verses to boot!
but, guess what?
  i will not force you to eat my
sauerkraut, my schnitzels,
                           my smoked sausages,
my raw herrings etc.,
                      integration does not work
within the confines of: pampering to a people
expected to meet you half-way...
what happened when the polonaise attempted
to meet the english half-way?
brexit...
oh come on guv'... is there a ******* tram
echoing its way out of my eye
when you peer into it while i attach
an index finger to the bottom lid to give
you a clearer picture?
           25 years in england: no englush girlfriend:
i guess all the english girls just love, just love love
being ***** by 9 pakistanis
daubed in gasoline...
                   hey: they **** thrill...

i'm tired of the weakness of the english,
the humpty-dumpty nature they are imposing,
self-cencorship,
    appeasing, like neville chamberlain...
bringing back the munich agreement...
not on a piece of paper,
instead... waving a scrap of a toilet roll...
so the english could wipe their own *****
on the promises of the germans...
if this really hurts the northern monkies...
guess how much it hurts the sourthern fairies...
(well... fairy, is a designated region surrounding
devon, bristol, hardly a ******* fairy in essex)...

   why am i foreigner and i share
the same nausea of the natives,
                     exhausted by the narratives?
i guess the english didn't like the polonaise:
but the polonaise are to blame...
came here with a list of benefits they could claim:
without having even lived 5 years among
the natives... housing benefits, child benefits...
believe me: the polonaise are the only
people in the world that hate each other...
to the extent of citing bitter criticisms...
whenever i pass through warsaw to see my grandparents
i am gripped with a sickness:
this homogeneity is too much for me...
shove me back into the east end of London...
too much of the same genetic material...
and that's when the language i am keeping
(seemingly for vanity reasons) fizzles out
into your basic encounter and that basic reminder
that circa 40 million speak it too,
better or worse, but they speak it...

of all the festivals? download...
                                   i wish...
    glastonbury?       not my thing...
kylie? i'll concede: slow? live, with instruments,
rather than the studio original...
wasn't that a cover of
   bowie's fashion?
                  sure as hell sounded similar...
but i heard the cure were playing...
so while writing my father's invoice
i made myself a paperclip bracelet...
   i figured... "let's just pretend to be there"...
and no, the 1980s weren't that bad when
it comes to music,
not now, by comparison...
the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me (1987)
release?
one of those rare albums you can
listen to akin to reading a book...

                       but there's still that persisting
exhaustion... i came from under communism,
from under the iron curtain,
but at least there was the economic aspect
of communism involved...

   only today i watched the story
of the terrible inversion of english jursprudence,
i.e.: guilty until proven innocent...
the 1975 case of the silesian vampire...
an innocent man was hanged...
the original vampire?
    smashed his wive's head in,
then his childrens', then he set himself
on fire...
              then again: the tragedy of those
rare cases of being presumed guilty
rather than innocent...
then the reverse: presumed innocent rather
than guilty and getting away with it,
through the parody of death
and the non existent god...

   there could not be anything more exhausting
than communism without a communist
economic model...
this current state of affairs in the west:
cultural marxism and the yet to be discovered
antithesis of cultural darwinism...

i'll use the cartesian chirality for a moment:
sum ergo cogito...
i don't like using political terms...
but... liberal (classical) - i don't even know
what sort of thinking goes into the label -
in the east? the liberals are exhausted
by a resurgent nationalism within
   the newly acquired capitalist system...
in the west? the liberals are exhausted
by an insurgent communism within
an ageing capitalist system...

         on a side: seriously, why even bother
engaging in any sort of "public intellectual"
debates when the public are only
discussing two books: 1984 and brave new world...
**** it, might as well talk to a camel jockey
who only own and rides the waves of
time in this world only using one...
muhammad...
   whom Khadija **** Khuwaylid
would probably whip into his young
respectable shape...

                  and this is how Ezra Pound comes
into rememberance:
usura... at least the muslims do not
play into the game of usury:
of interest... borrow a quid,
pay back £2.33...
            that's the only way you can
gain respect of the muslims:
if they truly were the money lenders
of this world: which they aren't...
unless a newly blessed...

   among the philistines and the proselytes...
england is such a tiresome project,
even on the outskirts of London...
i'm being dragged down by this intervention
of marxism: on a whim,
on a whimsical projection...
of "adding" values...
            
           communism would have worked...
in exceptional circumstances...
poland... circa 1945 - 1990...
syria: the current year...
  to whatever year is demanded...
exceptional as in: war torn...
where was the marshall plan
   for poland, when there was one
for sweden (neutral) and switzerland
(also neutral)?!
        black youths bothered about
the summer holidays,
having to live in council flats,
  concrete goliaths...
           want to know what it feels like
when entire cities are like council
estates,
with only pockets of remaining
   free-standing houses among
overshadowing council flats?
                                    nee bother...
sure... in a country where:
the house is the castle and there's a labyrinth
of castles constituting outer suburbia...
balconies... that's what the soviet
models had... balconies...
where women could grow flowers...
concrete staccato gardens in the sky...
the blocks of flats in england
didn't have balconies (sky gardens,
          esp. the early ones, massive fault)...
i spent one summer reading
bertnard russell's history of western philosophy...
lying in my grandparent's balcony,
in the shade...
watching passerbys among
          the barking dogs of the neighbours...

one day, one ******* day!
   and i'm already exhausted from the castrato
english narrative...
pandering to the people you expected
to integrate...
  no! you're not changing your standards...
your standards are perfectly reasonable!
i'm tired of the english pandering
to the sort of people who, will, not,
integrate!
               i integrated in a way
of respecting both the english culture,
as well as hiding / preserving my own...
why don't i just do the following:
   pisać po polsku?
                      like some czesław miłosz?

ah... good point... at what point
is the standard of integration appreciated?
when nothing is preserved?
surely integration is supposed to
accommodate some variation
of preservation?
     i might add: that's a fine line...
preserve all? no integration...
preserve some? integration...
                    preserve none? no integration...
food is a cheap target to example
with...
                   it's a low hanging fruit...
given that even i find indian cuisine
   the most superior in the world...
food is a cheap target concerning integration...
but the niqab?
  when the local english authorities
are employing face-recognition
technology and when testing it...
are forcing people to uncover their faces,
subsequently arresting them out of protest...
but not the women wearing the niqab...
out of? out of what?
   a secular society shouldn't be allowed
to discriminate against any religion...
it should discriminate against: all religions!

                isn't that what the secular ideology
is all about? the... softcore version
of soviet atheism?
        secularism of the west (miltary-industrial
complex)...
"vs." soviet atheism of the east
  (scientific-industrial complex)...
           i'm still so ******* tired
               of this bogus trap of "necessary"
                       commentary.
Unrequited Love Mar 2014
Please be happy.  
Your smile is beautiful            

Please dont cry.  
Just dry your eyes

Please dont leave me.
Because I wont survive without you
                                                              
P­lease dont lie.          
Because I want to trust you

Please look at me how you look at her.
Because it seems as if shes the only  ******* earth

Please hold me in your arms.
Because I want to fall alseep happy for once

Please never say good bye.
I cant take that pain

Please stay with me.
Forever and ever

Please be mine
Because I'm already your's

Please love me.
just please...love me
ashley Apr 2013
Description: Sam's not at all who people think he is. He might be quiet, he might be shy, but he also was diagnosed with cancer. When Briar moves to town, she catches Sam's eye. What will happen once the two get closer? Will Briar light a spark in Sam's heart?

-

Distant Memory

Dedicated to my cousin, Blake, who is currently fighting a horrific battle of Lymphoma.



You're probably thinking this is just some clichè love story, one about a girl having a crush on her best friend's brother, or how two people fall madly in love, but it's anything but. This is my story, with a twist unlike any other.

~

It all started in our Junior year of high school. You were new to Wakefield High, just moving here the previous year from New York City. On the first day of school, you were so unsure of yourself, not knowing what to do or where to go. I watched as you made your way through the halls, nudging your way through the crowded bodies as students made their way to class. Even though the halls were tremendously over-crowded, you were easy to spot. Your blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes stood out by the school's bland beige walls. You were more radiant, more powerful and glowing, than anything or anyone in the whole school.

Eventually, you made friends in all the clubs you'd joined - culinary club, photography club, and ASL. I don't know what made you stand out from all the other girls at Wakefield High, but whatever it was, it was strong. I felt drawn to you, like we shared a connection deeper than either of us knew. And it was then when I made it my goal to get to know you.

For the first few weeks, I'd tried bulking up the courage to speak to you. I had planned it all out in my mind. I would talk to you at lunch, right as you gathered your food and headed off to the library like you do every day. That was my chance, and I was determined to stick with it.

On that day, I was behind you in the lunch line. Once you got up there, you ordered a chicken empanada, then headed off to the library in the West wing. I quickly grabbed my lunch, a light Cesar salad, and trailed behind you.

You were walking faster than expected, and I was just too weak. I stopped, holding my knees as I gasped for breath. That was my chance to talk to you, to finally hear your beautiful voice, and I blew it.

It wasn't because of what you think. I couldn't keep up because I was lazy or out of shape, because I was neither of those.

I was diagnosed with Leukemia last October, and after tons of treatment, my doctor said I could try going back to school. I decided it would probably be best for me to live a normal life - as much as normal can get for a boy with cancer. Knowing that I was going to die soon - my doctor predicted I would only last for another year, tops - made me want to get to know you more.

After many wasted days of trying - but failing - to get your attention, I gave up. You were too wrapped up in your new life to even acknowledge my existence. Too busy maintaining your new found reputation, too busy dating a new guy every week. I always thought you were a ***** because of it, that you took advantage of different guys and then left them to crumble to pieces, but all of that changed on that faithful day.

I had gotten dropped off late to school because I had to get tests run at the hospital that morning. I tried to get to class on time, running as fast as I could. Only that didn't work because before you knew it, I was out of breath once again.

I headed over to the restroom, hoping a cool splash of water on my face would do the trick, when I heard wailing in the girls bathroom. I looked over my shoulder before entering, just to be safe. As I closed the door, I locked it behind me.

You were leaning against the wall, knees drawn to your chest as you cried. Noticing a presence, you looked up at me, thick black mascara running down your rosy cheeks. Your eyes were puffy, and I could tell you'd been crying for quite a while.

I didn't know what to say or do at that point, so I did what my heart told me I should do. I held you.

I sat next to you and wrapped my arms around you. Your body seemed small and weak, heaving in my arms. You cradled your head into my neck as tears fell from your bright blue eyes. I didn't bother asking what was wrong. Figured I would at a better time.

Just then, you looked up at me, face flushed and blotchy, and grabbed my hand. It seemed to fit perfectly within yours, our frail fingers intertwined in each others.

I tucked a few of your light blonde strands behind your ears as your cries dwindled. Even after you'd finished crying, you sat with me.

"What's your name?" Your eyes shone with curiosity.

"Sam."

"I'm Briar."

Briar. What a beautiful name. I smiled in your tangled hair. I never in a million years thought I would ever talk to you, and even if I had, I never would have expected it to be quite like this.

"You like Ed Sheeran too?" You asked, your eyes widening in delight as you scanned my shirt. I watched a smile creep to your face, lighting up your gorgeous eyes.

"Yeah, he's my favorite singer," I smile shyly. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks, and I feel embarrassed for acting this way.

Ever since then, we began talking. The more we talked, the more I knew how wrong I was about you. You weren't a ***** at all; all the guys you've dated broke up with you, but blamed it on you every time. That's how you got the title as biggest ***** of the school. I felt bad because you were one of the sweetest people I'd ever met, portraying someone you weren't.

I felt like that Ed Sheeran shirt brought me luck. It was the start to our budding friendship.

After a while, you completely changed. You stopped hanging out with the populars, claiming they were never into you anyway. And I found you enjoyed yourself more. I ended up joining the photography club later that year. Whenever we would go out on weekends, I was always taking pictures of you, catching the memories within a moment of time.

You always loved my pictures. As we sat in my bedroom, I'd let you pick out your favorites for you to keep, writing little notes on the back of each picture. Your absolute favorite one was that one of the two of us.

We were in a huge field, smiling as I held you in my arms wedding style. Your blonde hair flew around in all different directions and your eyes held happiness and joy. That was my favorite one too.

I had always had feelings for you, ever since that day in the bathroom, but I'd never have the chance to show you how I really feel. Even if I did, why would you love me back? I have no hair anymore since going through chemotherapy. My body's frail and weak, barely able to stand up on my own.

I had went to the doctors two days ago for more tests, and the doctor found that the tumor in my brain was growing more and more rapidly by the second. Therefore, I would be dying sooner than expected. I only had four days left. My mother held me in her arms as she cried, her wet tears staning my t-shirt.

That night, I called you and told you the news. You cried into the phone, and I wish I was there to hold you, tell you that everything would be okay, that I would be better soon. It was a lie, but I didn't want to hear you sad. I felt bad for being the cause of it.

The next day, I was rushed to the hospital after my mother found my collapsed in my room.

It was then I knew my life was coming to a close. I grabbed a pen and piece of paper, and wrote you a letter.

~

Dear Briar,

If you're reading this, I'm probably gone by now. I just woke up to the dimly lit lights flooding into my room, tubes and needles inside of me. My heart monitor is beeping weakly next to me, and I feel very frail. Cold, frail, and in tremendous pain. You're alseep on the couch right next to my bed and I watch you, take in your beauty for the last time. Your blonde hair is flowing around your head like a halo, your lips look like delicate red rosebuds. Even though I am weak, getting skinnier by the second, I make my way over to your side, kissing you lightly on the forehead.

I never told you about my cancer, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for causing you the pain of me leaving you. I never meant for it to be this way. All I wanted was to live a normal life, and you showed me that there's happiness even in the smallest of places.

When you miss me, look at the pictures of us, pinned to a board on your bedrooom wall. Remember the memories we've had together. Remember the way you always made me smile, the dozens of laughs you filled me with. You showed me how to enjoy life, Briar. And I could never ask for anything more.

You filled my gloomy days with so much laughter I could barely contain myself. Remember me like that, Briar. Remember me happy.

I never realized it before, but I've fallen in love with you; your glowing smile, eyes the color of the raging ocean. I'd never known what love felt like, but I found it with you.

I love you so much, Briar. Never forget that. And remember I'll always be with you.

Love forever and always,

Sam

~

Briar's POV

I woke up to Sam's heart monitor, constantly beeping.Looking at the monitor, I noticed his breaths were slowing.

I made my way over to his bedside, rubbing my thumb gently across his cheek. His eyes were closed as his chest rose every so often.

"If only you knew how much I love you, Sam," I whispered, a single tear falling from my eyes. I watched him smile as he dwindled away.

"Sam? Sam?" My eyes filled with panic as I shook him lightly. "Sam?" My voice rose as I looked at the monitor, seeing the thin red line.

"Help! Somebody help!" I cried. As soon as those words escaped my lips, his hospital room flooded with doctors and nurses. They surrounded him, pushing me away to see what had happened. But they didn't need to. I already knew.

A doctor with black curly hair came rushing over to me. "I'm sorry, but he's gone.."

He's gone... He's gone... He's gone...

Those words rung in my ears, filling my head. I ran over to your bedside, crying my eyes out and practically screaming your name, hoping you'd come back to me.

I lay my head on your unmoving chest, letting my tears soak into your shirt. I noticed a small white envelope on the table next to you, To my sweet love, Briar, was written on it in your handwriting. I stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans before heading out of the hospital, feeling numb and empty.

I reread the letter over and over, tears staining the white lined paper.

"I love you, Sammy," I said, looking up at the bright blue sky. Even though the world seemed empty without you, I know I had to be strong. For you.

On days where I feel I can't bear your absence, I look at the pictures you took, just like you'd asked. I never knew you would change my life in such a drastic way.
A short story I wrote on Wattpad; not that it's any good, but yeah.
Beth Ivy Jan 2014
Let me be
asleep and free,
borne up in the arms
of the Willow Tree,

floating on
in ship or drawn
by boughs over stream
without eyes for dawn.

Light my way
where playful fey
disguised as fireflies
spring onto the bay.

Here no wraith
in nightmare waits;
no starved tormenter
may claw past the Gate.

Castle looms
seaside, with rooms
of silver stars and
night skies caught in blooms.

Pools too clear
to rob, my dear,
mystical creatures
of their mirth or cheer

find inside
solace to hide,
their well-kept secrets
not stolen nor spied.

Sleep that can
bear mortal man
to reams of Faerie,
can you waking ban?
In homage to George MacDonald, particularly his novel Phantastes, most specifically chapter XI. If you haven't had the good fortune to read any of his work, do. It will change how you see death permanently.
Raj Arumugam Dec 2011
1
zzzzz.....zzzzz...shhh.....zzzzz.
shhh....be quiet!.....zzzzz....
it’s the quiet of night
and everyone’s asleep...
so be quiet....zzzzzzzzzzz...

he-body is in bed
and see, beside is she-body
and both owners are fast asleep
but bodies speak even in sleep
shhh....be quiet!.....zzzzz....
zzzzz.....zzzzz...shhh.....zzzzz.


2
one turns in sleep
click! the neck says
ssssuuu!
a big toe scratches the mattress

silence

hmmm...mmmm...hmmmm...
that’s the in-breath, out-breath
as the bodies communicate


growl! it’s an empty tummy
and tchk! says the tongue
as it feels thirsty;
swwwwwirl!
says the blanket
as she-body pulls more of it



3

zzzzz.....zzzzz...shhh.....zzzzz.
shhh....be quiet!.....zzzzz....
it’s the quiet of night
and everyone’s asleep...
so be quiet....zzzzzzzzzzz...


rrrr....rrrrr.....rrrrrr...
that’s he-body snoring
rrrr...rrrr....rrrr...rrrrrrrr...
yes, he snores like a saw


ttttttttttt! yes, she-body kicks

bp!bp!bp!bp!
he-body ***** his thumb


zap!
a noise travels
from lung to gut
hmmmm....hmmmmmm....hmmmm...
there is heavy-breathing
the nose is blocked


4
zzzzz.....zzzzz...shhh.....zzzzz.
shhh....be quiet!.....zzzzz....
it’s the quiet of night
and everyone’s alseep...
and bodies talk....listen


prrrrtttt!
yes, that’s he-body
everybody knows this rude sound
Plattt!
yes, that’s she-body
with an instinctive kick
Baam!
that’s he-body
as it hits the floor


rrrrrr......rrrrrr....rrrrrr.....rrrrrr....
prrrrrrrrrrr­rrrrtttttt!

that’s he-body again, I’m afraid,
blissfully unaware
and asleep like a baby on the floor


Hmmmmm.....
that’s she-body dreaming of Prince Charming
who never showed up


zzzzz.....zzzzz...shhh.....zzzzz.
shhh....be quiet!.....zzzzz....
it’s the quiet of night
and everyone’s asleep...
so be quiet....zzzzzzzzzzz...
Alaina Moore Feb 2019
Overwhelmed is a term tossed around to the point of underwelming.
I am a depressed person in a glass cage, with no way to hide my fear.
Like a million little cuts across my body, and not a **** one distracts me from myself.
I feel like I'm pounding on the glass screaming, "I wish you would just be happy!"

I'm a depressed person wanting telling a depressed person the worst things to say to depressed people.
The irony is a silent needle that sews the lips shut.
Pretend you're alseep while pretending to be alive.
I sacrifice myself for others worthy of the life.
Exhausting to carry their burdens, and the tears they can't actually cry.
Faces rest in palms as if hands are any sort of shelter.
Inability to let things go makes me feel like I have to rip them apart.
Living like this makes you ill beyond belief.
All I want is a good night's sleep.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
with ego as foetus:
    i do get a chance to give birth
to a thought,
  notably a minor critique,
or, rather, digression from a
newspaper article...

all this posturing and lying
deserves a mundane truth,
   one that doesn't even
register on scaling historical
events: as ever having
happened...

             an article by
julia llewellyn smith (welsh
roots, i gather?)
               on a book by
        emma koenig -
           moan: anonymous essays
on female *******...

come to think of it:
   i always held a suspicion with
regards to this bounty...
  i never could envision
the sort of male ****** with
trust involved...
      
  once with a ******* i ate
mine, ******* and remained
silent...
           a sensation that could
only be replicated with
what brother zygfryd de löwe
  experienced, looking up
at a hanging noose on
a titilated by the wind hallow
tree...

       ever wake up with
an auditory hallucination?
          simply with the word
uchyl?
            namely - pry open
a door?
          only today i "think"
i dreamed of reading
the book of Job, and standing
before a blackboard
   with a rubric that read,
something along the lines of

- - - - + - - - | + + - + + + + +
- + + - - - - - | + + + + + - - -
- - + - - - - - | + + + + - - + +
- - + + - - + - | - + + - + + - +
- - + - - - - + | + - + - + - + -
- + - + - + - - | + - - - + + - +
+ - + - - - - + | + - + + + + - +
- - - - + + - - | + - - + + + - -

i can't say that's "verbatim",
but it merely represents
the excavation of a dream
where + / - were used...

         and a recurrent thought:
cognitive narcissism...
   **** mirror...
        apparently i'm the most
fascinating person on
the earth,
         although i know that's
a cheap thrill delusion...
          since i'm no magician:
it's a mirror womb,
   like any madman appears
to have fathomed....

but i was suspicious of
the female ****** for a while,
this... acting in the bedroom...
this, supposed clarity
vector for the impetus that
guides man...

             having taken "advice"
from an ukranian,
then a romanian *******...
      i remember vaguely:
did i just pay for a kiss?

      winners! and losers...
who are to mind
   the gravity of the plateau?
can't tell them apart...

****** her 7 hours straight
once, in St. Petersburg
just before i was to fly out,
and...
      you say she faked those
pseudo-epileptic spasms
mostly resonating at the altar
of her feet?

   i've had 3 pseudo-epileptic
spasms in my time...
the clenched jaw imitating
the crocodile macht...
     the gut-wrench:
supra-indigestion sensation,
and then the jitters...
  cold-sweat...
         a second birth...
the slain strobe body...
        a persistent vagueness
of the performance of
blinking...
                   pain like
              a disembodiment...
a death: with a near-life
experience...
         an agitated maggot
on the tip of a human finger,
rather than a fishing hook...

custard pie...
     yummy, eh?
    
  well... if no ******,
                            why not pain?
could just imagine the sensation,
thrill, and the Ural wind...
         beating me to the gallop,
like some...
                   forgotten smile,
laboured from a face with
    missing features...
               like the kind of tenderness
a womb is given
to superimpose
               the fraility of a flower...

how chunks of meat
can be cooked with attention...
slowly,
   as to not craft a makeshift
   McDonald charring scars...
of a... fast.

    so you're telling me
that through those 7 hours that
began with a **** me
sunset, to a ******* sunrise,
the pseudo-epileptic spasms,
were, fake?!

        mind you: it's hard to fake
a spasm...
                  not in the way i described
it,
        some nights after my first,
aged 14+, i used to fear falling
alseep with clenched teeth,
considering the fact that my first
spasm was
                   propagated by
a clenching of the teeth...
        i authentically feared clenching
my teeth...
      reminding me of the electric
potency of a worm, moving
down my spine like authentic
mandarin writing...

                     but faking an ******?
man will only know,
if he eats his up with a grain
of silence...
                  if all is thespian:
                                 then all is not...

justice already hangs in
the satanic compedium of affairs,
"apparently" justified
with man's latter fall:
             and you will not know,
the difference between good,
and evil,
       having miscarried the extremes
of a blatant index execution,
with...

             a ******* thesaurus!
minor-noun subordinates and,
lumbering excuses to play:
                   hide & seek once more;
although now?
      ******* off a few people
along the way.

the english: can't ******* hark,
can't ******* trill... the ****, can they do?!
   |ch| is not cheap...
                       couldn't laugh
even if i wanted you to.
       yeah: the "missing" O...

    so why bother with Hollywood,
if you have a Medussa's worth
of an actress, lazily occupying a bedroom?
    
i already said: i was and am,
       suspicious of the female ******...
till i became suspicious of mine...
    and: hardly lost it...
               hid it... in the ecstasy of
the drunk's laughter...

                 and the winner is!
twice removed actress
                     bulging in cushions like
a bloated tarantula...
                   considering the ape...
who is to tell me i'm not right
in borrowing the "metaphor"
      of equating women with a mantis?

too much seems to be borrowed
from animals
in the english speaking world,
  to further an investigation of being
human,
         too much has become
of the deranged, zoological tiger,
writing out a lemniscate
    to appease the democratic
continuum of:
             the tiger isn't adored...
                but the cage, certainly is.
              
a female ******... huh...
                  pseudo-epileptic spasms?
and this article?
plain outright lying,
   i never imagined people gambling
                                               with lies,
    but then again:
     i'll become, less naive,
on the day of my death...
  my pontius pilate hour of:
          you couldn't exactly ask
for a Parisian waiter to tell
me the secret of high-chin, long-nose
*******?
            who cares about lobsters?!
                   mind the Parisian waiter!

Paris: it's not exactly an excuse
       being Croat, speaking English in Paris,
missed opportunity though,
   je-b'a-n'ah      ku-r-v'ah              ma-ć!

and the winner! is?
           Zeus and Hera once debated
which *** derives more pleasure from ***...
but that, a woman,
   deviates from ******, altogether?
         and the man,
      becomes a seagull chick,
fed regurgitated ******* all the time?
   you can't fake pseudo-epileptic
spasms...
                
                  and i know what is and what
isn't considered a finality of
paying for an hour with a prozzie...
    considering the fact that you,
actually know what you're paying for,
when she's not being paid to
act the: pinnacle role...

               well: it was either to go and
see a priest, or a psychiatrist...
    but evidently the ******* knew
better... on how to educate me in
the art of: sifting journalism-on-saturday
diatribe...

                you almost want an
introduction of the concept of a sabbath
to journalism...
      
   but the missing O?
             leaving a man so gullible,
or rather:
                    i could buy into the fact
that i have a replica to "mind"...
   but being rejected from being
able to give, rather than receive pleasure?

she said it herself:
   a rare quality, for a man to mind
giving, rather than receiving pleasure...

to be left in a perpetual doubt,
                     is akin to being denied,
        which is hardly a happy phallus...
i like your supposed
   *liberators"...
                       looks like the "excesses"
of skin prior to circumcision have
a secondary purpose...
     christ, would you believe:
they can make a ******* out of that, thing?
andy fardell Jul 2011
My night was broken to the sound i feared
rain did noise from ear to ear
i hate that sound when so alseep
dreams escaped me ...let me sleep

hear the drips from somewhere ...out
drip drip drip there is no doubt
awake and so tired yet still i hear drip drip drip
in me ear

feel the wetness as cars fly by
still the dripness ...madness cry
rain please stop and let me sleep
calm the madness inner me

pray for sunshine in the morning
give us sunlight through the dawning
let me sleep so i feel fresh ..stop the rain
or i'll be yawning
Chimera melons Apr 2010
Sneaking in my house parents alseep . you ask me if you should leave.
a three hour drive  here , now, 3 am  
a lover who was left
boomeranged back and I didnt want to abandon you
The answer that would have led to another life for me
leave now what are you doing here show some respect!
instead we danced
And relived our trained puppet record
parental misguidance is easy to follow
love doesnt want to abandon
lust until it stings
Lucy Barela Apr 2016
Tonight I'll fall alseep sleep thinking of you
Tonight I'll dream, and dream of you
Tonight in my dreams you are next to me
Tonight in my dreams you are holding me
Tonight in my dreams you stay by my side
But today
Today you are gone
Today you are not next to me
Today you are not holding me
And today you are not by my side
But I am still thinking of you
I am still dreaming of you
When the lights are on
and the world is I awake
I not on! Im not awake!
My head is gone
My heart is gone
And I cannot wait
For the day that you are not in my head
For the day you do not have my heart
But till then I pray it'll be tonight, since it wasn't today I'm waiting for
tomorrow'
For bee
Sunshine Girl Nov 2012
Wide awake.
Though it's morning,
When I should be awake,
I don't have you.
You're not awake to talk to me.
You're alseep.
While I'm wide awake.
Maxine Rhue T Nov 2013
2am
2:00am
I cannot fall alseep
My lips are dry
I've came once
unsatisfying

3:27am
I've had half a glass of vernors
The rest is sitting next to my bed warm and flat
I can't get comfortable
I have too much room in this bed
It makse me feel vulnerable

4:18am
I went to the bathroom
When I got there i didn't have  to go anymore
I went back to my room
Only to have to go back again.

4:30am
I can hear my mom coughing
She hasn't been feeling  well lately

4:37 am
I can't stop thinking about how she cried today
Or is it yesterday
I guess the next day doesn't start until you sleep

4:39am
I made her cry
Im trying  to remember what you said
About it not being my fault
I struggled with it

5:30am
Another unsatisfying ******
Viewed some ****
It wasn't what I needed
I closed my eyes for awhile
That was unsatisfying too

6:47am
I try thinking about why you stay
Or why you'd think I'd leave
Why you claim to love my body
claim to love all of me

7:15am
I Sent you a silly text.
You haven't replied yet
I feel stupid

7:38am
I logged into Facebook
Updated information
Looked though all your pictures
You don't look how I remember you in these
I don't like it
We don't interact enough here
Your ex is all over your page though
I should log out

8:03am
I hope you mean it when you say I'm better than the rest
A better cook
A better friend
A better support system
Better for you
© Maxine Rhue T  2013
Haruharu Jun 2017
The first  shy conversation, afraid to make eye contact for too long.

The first coffee, staring down our mugs with a smile.

The first road trip with laughter and jokes in the car.

The first meal together, where we acted too polite.

The first horror series marathon, your hand almost touched mine.

You asked if I was scared, I said no even though I was.

The almost kiss in the car outside my house.
We both wanted it but too scared to make the move.

The first falling alseep with a smile on my face because of you.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
which makes sense eating an english breakfast
at 2a.m., and then whining:
where's the sunrise, and business of day?
but i do love how certain people can extract
a narrator out of me, a potential to be as such,
capable to exfoliate. and in my own secret
space i am milking the she-goat,
and i mean: that's quasi-Hindu given the lack of
vegetarian experts...
      i mean: having been
most benevolently excavated from placebo solipsism
a cure to experiencing schizophrenia,
i find the crowd once again, but that doesn't mean
i'm writing from a crowded scene...
i'm simply devoid of commuter squabbles, let alone
those prancing arcades of blinking lights that
are known as the protestor crowds...
   i sorta of don't get that scene...
i just don't see the need the rush for the commotion...
  wait... let me get my banner...
(enter snigger) -  i'd be more handy with a
kalashnikov or a molotov dead-end
that i will ever be.. sheep-shy-sheep-bound
to hoister a banner:
    i just think repetition is a bit of a dead
given samples in music, and how you can re- re- refresh
      on the scratched-vinyl altar...
(how a noun for again: in Latin,
  became shortened to a prefix re-, so that
it could be made into an adequate "grapheme"
builder to note things like: resaid, regained....
without it: on crutches, alone)...
maybe i'm not even zeitgeist,
and wouldn't that be a real worry for me...
   i'd start seeing the vietnamese
nail nuns... asking that it becomes hard, acrylic...
   feline grr... scratch that *******'s
scalp into an Ed Gein mask...
oh sure... the jokes are free from this point.
but i just *** it away,
farting like a zeppelin...
              and really, language could never
be poetic and alphabetical at the same time...
that bogus bow-tie bachelor of bloom
would never help to solve the daffodil's lack
of bloated turkey in april debate for
one Frenchman's vision of
         caging a > / < b...
                 subsequently c... no one new
whther a > b or whether a < b...
were either a < b or b > a? to later state a c?
talk to a greek: he won't know what the hell
you're talking about...
why is why greek didn't employ siamese
principles regarding vowels to expose
          the difficulty, of coupling consonants
into covert-graphemes... phi non-vs. theta, e.g.
perhaps ratio *******? a : b : c...
no? it's a lot to ask for when there's no real punctuation
to be sordid about... i already stated:
   how the Romans cut up words
isn't exactly how the Greeks cut them up...
  when you cut up a word
the roman way, you work from the principle
of a grapheme... or the φoνoς,
beginning with æ - some might call that
as merely: tongue tied, or tongue numbed...
ello ello... but there's a clear sound...
apart from the sounds encrusted in h, w, y...
     but it's exactly what the doctors ordered,
given they become sort of truant with
the Hippocratic oath...
   the φoνoς finally belongs parallel to the
Heraclitus λoγoς...
based upon the sole prime of how individual sounds
were noted...
i.e. it had to mean something, so Heraclitus
was looking for "the" word, only because
individual greek letters were giving a noun
status, rather than a sound status... there was
no φoνoς principle in the greek alphabet...
letters weren't mere sound units, they had the status
of nouns, which is why they became pivots
for keeping them as such, in a hierarchy of
optical superiority above the Roman encoding,
ranging from mathematical or chemical coordinates...
which is why the Greeks have no good music
these days: well, apart from rotting christ...
and aphrodite's child...
          the Greek tongue has no idea of a grapheme,
(μ, ν, ξ and π don't even come close...
  the grapheme principle needs a siamese graphic:
the cited examples would require
   a siamese of opposite sexes... and since i haven't seen
such an example... i beg to differ)...
there's no siamese entity in it, there's no æ...
nothing Greek is explicit in sound,
which is why i guess the lisp comes from...
they're eating custard every time i hear them talk
or whistling via a pigeon feather turned into
a flute... ****** fla fla... falaffel and theta cheese...
oh but there is, it exists in the realm
of consonants and vowels... rather than among
vowels, exclusively...
      but that is why Heraclitus invented the λoγoς...
he contemplated the λoγoς because he couldn't
see the φoνoς, given that α couldn't
be taking a seat in dentistry and saying ah...
   or that φ couldn't just end with phi...
but had to lead onto a complexity of φlosophy...
and god... look at the mutilation of aesthetics
with that one! the λoγoς isn't that enigmatic as it appears,
old, dusty and about 3000 years revised too late...
  not with what the Roman caricature of
the λoγoς actually is... a, b, c, d...
or how close proximity deviating from the λoγoς
makes the φoνoς pop out...
  why / i              y / why
                               see / c
        b / be
                              a / aye / i / huh?
     t / tea                     p / ***
                      q / queue / cue...
     this is the limitations of the φoνoς...
  and only with the φoνoς being presented will
Heraclitus ever find the λoγoς, that might
suggest to him: α, will never have to be suffixed
with -λφα: cue -λθα.
- the reason why he concenptualised it
is because Greek gave restrictions on how
the phonos could be constructed...
   it couldn't! it revolves around the Greek alphabet
being noun-based... logoístic... rather than
pure phonetic carrying the ideal shrapnel...
       Heraclitus thought up the logos
for the sole reason that Greek stated
α as αλφα... rather than αλθα... or merely α
(and then you'd sing the rest, say #a)
hence the concept of the logos... but not the phonos...
because even if α or β could attain a status
of being a grapheme... both would forever remain
a noun... a word: rather than a sound-unit...
or as the moderns like to call them: sound-bits...
only because of the roman concept of
a grapheme does this arise from: the æ
testmanet of an Adam and Eve, clearly making
******-***** differentiation appealing...
so a return to the thesis of androgony?
  what, make the world siamese?
you ******* kidding me?
listen, the only problem about being genius
in poetry is that: well... there aren't any shortcuts...
you want to write narrative like exponents,
but you are writing something that's to be read
standing up, like watching a canvas in an art
gallery... this isn't reading a Tolstoy reclining
in bed, the counter to turning on the radio and
listening to music to fall alseep...
   i can't simply destroy the narrative principle
that poetry is also prone to...
    and trying to provide the equivalent of
a mathematical proof / equation in purely
linguistic symbology, will eviidently mean i'll be prone
to spaghetti / digression...
     for example stating a + in language is really
a problem as to how you can comprehend me when
i write: i see a an auburn flame of a setting sun...
      is that only one + or many in that sentence?
   educated as a chemist, son of a roofer...
  am i really middle-class ponce concerning this?
do i ******* look like i'm gearing up for a tea-party?
   basics... well, better a summary than
giving a vanity project to this narrator...
poets indeed are anti-novelists: there aren't
any characters in their works,
the only thing more numerous in poetry than
characters in a novel... are the narrators...
   Heraclitus spoke about the logos working from
α = alpha...
   i'm speaking about the phonos working from
a = a multitude of sounds...
             which is why they revised this *******
alphabet with the NATO of alpha romeo...
     zulu and i should probably state: *******...
   that's the whole principle of the phonos...
to work back to the logos...
         and since Heraclitus is a bit vague about
the logos in itself...
      it has to come down to Hippocrates talking
about freeloading on ***** when
   you receive cancer's foetus and try to alleviate the pains.
Lydia May 2014
Visualization skills
Can be incredible
I can be walking down a street in Paris
With my friend who died
Four years ago
But it can also be terrible
Like when I'm trying to fall alseep
But I'm standing in her room
Watching her burn
Or when I'm sitting in my room
And you are there
But I have to remember you left
And it isn't real
Sometimes I can walk alone the ocean
Instead of the street
But usually
I'm running from monsters
I'm not insane
I visualize on purpose
But sometimes I loose control of my daydreams
Sometimes I swear you hate me
Because I misread something
And my stupid brain twists thoughts
And gives me the worst possible scenario
And that scenario is real
Only it's not
Because you don't hate me,
Do you?
It's so hard to touch a ghost.
Please comment :)
Lottie Aug 2015
Late at night, or early morning:
The moon, a hollow reflection of day,
The blissfully ignorant lie alseep
And dream of the life they'd love to live.

The terribly knowledgeable, they lie awake,
Knowing that at night, demons come out
And howl at the souless reflection of the sun;
Knives and guns and hands.

The blissfully knowledgeable sit awake
For a time, looking and knowing the horrors
Which haunt the world but are content,
Because life is about death. And hope.
Meg Goodfellow Dec 2014
I wondered if the doors in your house lock by themselves because they know you’ll be too drunk to do it later. Maybe they know you like to keep your secrets locked away behind closed doors, so you don't have to admit to them; As it is easier to explain the absent of truth when there are lies to fill in the gaps.

From a young age I learnt to appreciate silence, as your nights brought a storm of yells and screams as my mother fought with words but you fought with a bottle and a wine glass. I wonder if the man at the bottle shop knew your order before you even walked through the doors, as you became quite the regular.

I wonder if my mother went to bed and cried the night she found bottles stashed away in the attic where nobody was suppose to find them; But almost six years after you left,  there they were. Maybe closed doors weren’t enough to keep your secrets locked away so you had to hide them in the attic, among family photos and old rusted bed frames.

I wonder if the sound of slamming doors still haunt my sisters ears. For they heard you leave in drunken anger, in the dead of night, to who-knows where.

I wonder if you ever thought of coming back; But I guess alcohol acted as a better family then we ever did because at least bottles don’t think, or have feelings and broken hearts.

I wonder if you’ll ever get the smell of alcohol out of your hair or from under your skin, and I wonder if you will ever keep the promises you once made me; But I guess my calls for help were nothing more than the soundtrack of a late night television show, left on as you fell asleep on the couch; red wine staining the carpet, leaving a tattooted mark as a reminder, telling those that you’d been here.

I wonder what it felt like when you realised, as children, we once replaced you beer with milky-water because we didn’t want daddy drinking anymore; Or what about the time when we threw out your tobacco. I  remember you sent us to our rooms, and shut the door behide you.

I wonder if you remember the time we went fishing and I asked you about the ocean. You explained that the ocean was like a human mind; so beautiful and clear,  yet deep and mysterious and that if I was to learn one thing in life, it was to never judge a person at first glance because just like the surface of the ocean, they only reflect the world around them. So I never judged you. I tried to understand you, but how was I  suppose to understand you when you kept closing doors in my face and threatening me with padlocks and lost keys?

I grew up learning to place my ears against the doors of your mind and try to arrange the puzzle pieces of your thoughts in an attempt to somehow create an image; But all I got was an unfinished picture with missing pieces.

I wonder if you remember the day I stopped visiting you because it was too hard packing my feelings into a suitcase and lugging them back and forth. I often wonder if you hated it that I didn’t call your house "home" or spent most of my time there, alone, outside because I didn’t like closed doors.

I remember once I  asked you why you drank so much. You said you liked the taste. I guess you also liked the heart break that comes with it, and the loneliness.

I wonder if you remember the night you got so blinded drunk you fell alseep on your bed with your pride by your side, waiting for my memory to pick it up and throw it out the window. I wonder if you remember I turned off the radio and let the silence tuck you in and the darkness sing you lullabies. I wonder if you remember I quietly closed the door behind me as I left;
Leaving another locked door;
With a deadly secret inside.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
.confined to: on the nigh... look... no surd in sight... no white night... do i need to say a certain word? no... but do i need to write it? well... if you want to take an escapade outside of the realm of dyslexia... sure.

i'm a wordsmith,
i tend to listen...
   better written down
than left
to a simple
conversation...

      ******'s aryan...
how else
to fudge so many
extra letters into
the word

          nigerian?

or maybe it has
something to do
with reading a book
review
by trevor phillips...

a book entitled
white fragility...
by robin diangelo...

               akin to that...
ha ha moment...
   when you spot
the vowel-catcher
aspect
of the tetragrammaton
and the, base,
for laughter...

can't seem to hinge
laughter on any other
consonant, other than
the H...

           sure: in hebrew that
amounts to saying
in English: the the the...
point?
    closure...

was i ever wrong in saying,
and abiding by
a non-dialectical
observation:
   a jazz record sounds
best...
   on vinyl...

jazz on a bus...
  a ring to it, doesn't it just
have it, the missing G
in a word like:
the Niger river...

oh right, that song...
not Oliver Costello's
oliver army...
rhymes with trigger...
on 1585AM radio...

they didn't hush
the word...
as would be the case on
FM radio...
i think that's
the right frequency...

i spent an hour sitting
in a car in a car park
outside the vets...
a cat in a car is like
a man about to fly
in a space-shuttle...
   the windows steamed-up
like that *** scene
from the movie Titanic...

billy joels':
we didn't start the fire...
belgians in the congo...
apocalypse now,
             heart of darkness,
joseph conrad...
         more like:
belgians in england...
          these days...
belgians in portugal...
        
the added G...
****... at least i'd be identified
with a Latin word
for black...
flag pole... the north pole...
******: grr...
         just one more word
you can add to speaking
a foreign tongue...

1 hour... sitting in a *******
car...
   can i drive one?
no! but i can ride you a horse...
how's that?

i had to lazily fathom
my... inability to dream,
or feel anything profound...
like making baby-steps
in a ******
that's supposed to be a heart...

well... if everyone is going
to be so ******* honest...
suicidal thoughts?
  oh, plenty of them...
   it's the only way to
contemplate mortality,
overshadowing an aspect
of god to send out Samael...

        well...
seeing how i ate the pain
of the four knuckle burns
from a cigarette
and enjoyed it?
           yeah...
that's weird:
     having the capacity
to enjoy pain...
                 it's like:
i want to feel what these
****-sodden *******
of a 14 year old girl
feel like...
     when cutting....
        the sad truth being:
               burning leaves
       you with tattoos...      

still, lazily budding with
a variant of sado-masochism...
           if there's pleasure
to be gained from...
   over-exposure to
the nerves...
           being recipient
of a...
                        impetus?

the fear of clenching
your teeth before
falling alseep...
in fear of a quasi-epileptic
spasm...
     fun days, and night...

hello the Chernobyl
winds...
             that year...
when the local park
experienced a curiosity...
when an atomic wind
passes?
  strips of trees...
roughly 10 metres
unaffected...
   rought 10 metres
decaying or...
speeding up from spring
into an autumnal
allure...
                  
  and this... this wasn't even
in Ukraine...
     head further,
north, across the border...

why i've come to enjoy
pain?
       a male ****** was
only ever so-so...
          what...
having to pull back
the *******...
   revealing the perfect
*****-****...
         because of two
protruding veins
being the reason for
not being given the:
             snippet treatment?

a hour, sitting in a ******* car...
apparently i gave off
a stench of a brewery...
filled the car with
toxic fumes of
the previous night's
whiskey consumption...

and i look at gambling
and think...
   yeah... i gamble...
i take a liter of whiskey
with me to bed...
chances are: i'll wake up
the next day... 3:1 ratio of me being
right about that...

     so...
   racism... race realism...
   very racist of me,
i somehow managed
to "bribe" a black girl
   with my up-stairs
doing it in the dark
on a leather sofa in a bedroom
while entertaining
a few guests who
managed to bother
a birthday part of me...
"bribed" her by providing
a decent stealth of cocktails
and cedric IM brooks',
notably the song
satta masa ganna...

   i do appreciate that classical
music lasted for
let's figure this out...
Vivaldi (1678)
Bach (1685)...
   vaughn Williams (1872)...
roughly 300 years...
        jazz?
             how long was that?
i'm not going to check,
i want to be guided by
some variant of ignorance
in... making general statements...
50 years?
           nig(g)er dropped
the ******* trumpet!

before it was rap,
it was a rhapsody...
            and i have...
0 colonial ancestry in me...
so... of course i'm not
excused...
         but you're just black,
while i'm a ******* flag pole...
and the people
most acutely aware to
any verbal transgressions?
they're the ones who
have no ******* puddle
for a soul behind the facade
of a smiling face.

racism contra race realism...
hmm...
       sounds like something
from an existentialist menu
that's... *******...
          hot... like a bagel
from a brick lane bakery!

never to be a convert
to rap, 'ere...
                reggae...
anything by culture
or isreal vibration...
who's who and who isn't
culturally appropriating
what?
         bunch of ******* schizos,
trapped on Jamaica,
thinking the Ethopians
are the 13th or is it the 14th
tribe is Juda?

i'm just a ******...
   shying away from
a Germanic heritage...
  ****... i'll just have
to butcher mein deutsche
for the, tickling thrill of it all!
and speak anglo-sax!
RaNdOmPoEtRy Mar 2014
I sit here bored out of my mind
Wondering how can I quietly waste time
Everyone still working on their test
Trying so hard to do their best

A whole group a idiots are right behind me
They won't Shut Up! with their laughs filled with arrogant glee
And one of those bozos stole my chair
Now my friend is all alone, with those idiots back there

My friend and I stare awkwardly at each other
Then we look away
Than we glare at one another
Than our heads turn astray

I keep looking at the clock
As it slowly ticks
Three hours more
When will time move on

My chair is so hard
My **** has gone numb
My foot just fell alseep
Man I have to ****

I hate this stupid pathetic test
I wish it could just go away
I'm going to try my best
So I don't have to redo this stupid aims test
possibly, yet his life is different to yours.



i have discussed it fully, yet it will remain

confidential.



he is still alseep and will remain so a while.

the bear is a private little soul, these things

affect him deeply.



his life is different to yours.



sbm.
Julie Butler Jun 2014
i have been led to believe , in my experience with being in-love,
that love is based on the knowledge gained and profound simplicity of feeling entirely connected and enamored with another person; that this feeling takes time after a period of time in which the party in question would eat together, go on hikes, dancing, movies, borrow a shirt, go to church, beach etc. whatever / estimating anywhere from one week to 5 months ... & sometimes even longer than that. (I KNOW) - those of you who believe in love at first sight ... well you're another breed... anyway... love at first sight ... like i was saying ...
I went to the store tonight.
I bought toilet paper and beer.
I stood in a very long line.
I watched a woman put back a box of ice-cream and felt proud of her; even though she didn't look happy for doing it -
she just didn't want to stand in that line and would probably get ice cream elsewhere!
On my walk back from that grocery store (about half a block from the store)
I looked up from lifting the beer
because it wasn't comfortable to hold it how i was holding it ....  
and I saw
someone walking to their car
This girl
The girl
this girl
and she smiled at me
she wore a beanie
and she was thin
and her hair was brown i think
I only saw her for 5 or 6 seconds
which at the time felt like a long time
but my short term memory isn't great sometimes
and her face is starting to fade  now
but i still see it
i see her neck
and I see her smile
it embarrassed me a little
it's funny when you grin at someone
I grin at people on the street all the time
it's quick
it's fixed
but a smile ... it has levels
this one
went from a friendly grin
to a shy
growing smile
with eyes
and shoulders
and heart
and stomach
and I didn't know about that difference
(until tonight)
but it filled me up
and i felt drunk on it
and i felt everything
and i felt all of it
in 5 seconds
and it's bugging me now
because i can't shake it
and i don't know why
i've never felt like this
not
one
bit
and i went home
and i told my best friend
and she told me to write about it
so here I am
and it's been a few hours now
and my friend is alseep
and I think she's asleep
and I should be asleep
and I think i'm over it now
or just over thinking
and over thinking
but i'm still thinking about it
and i haven't really climbed
so i'm not over anything
so i'll keep smiling instead
because it made me smile
and that felt good
and i just want to sit with that
and she gave me that
and that's all it has to be
so I believe in love at first sight
it's the best
it is what it is.
and that's beautiful
Annie McLaughlin Feb 2016
He fell alseep to the sound of my voice
he claims that it soothes him
Even when I trail off about simple things like the sky
or the library or the color of my blouse
I recognize that it wooes him
The places we visit, I describe in great detail
he sits quietly and smiles to his feet
An unfamiliar scent that he reaches to inhale
He asks what's that and is it lovely like me
He insisted on taking me to see a movie on our fifth date
but I didn't miss the tears as he sat there and listened
Sometimes he gets shaky when I come home too late
he doesn't know my looks, but he knows my voice glistens
He hasn't met my eye
but he knows they're my mother's
He doesn't recognize all the pity stares
or the muscle that follows my big brothers

Maybe love is blind
and maybe he is love.
Skai Jan 2016
It's 8:00pm
and Carlos picks me up.
Full bottles of ***** litering his
floorboards.
Hartwell in the passenger seat,
I sit behind him.
Leila in the middle
and Will on the far left.
Will is already drunk

It's 9:00pm
and I walk into Dylan's house.
Loud music blaring from his speakers.
My bag on the ground,
the ***** and beer on the table.
I mix the drinks because Leila doesn't know how.

It's 10:00pm
and every one is here.
Will and I sit together.
He is so drunk, and I am named the babysitter.
I make small talk while sipping the horrible jungle juice Leila ****** up.
My jungle juice was better.
I hand Robbie a 10.
He buys more Mountain Dew to mix more.

It's 11:00pm
and I get a call from Joseph.
"Is it weird if I stop by?"
I utter no and ask Mr. Ed for the address.
I run inside to tell Leila.
She hands me a shot of fireball.
I threw it back like a pro.
Luke hands me the jungle juice.
I chug.

It's 11:15pm
and Joseph calls
"I'm outside."
I walk by Will to act normal.
"I want ******* hookers and blow."
He's ****** up.
He looks up behind me,
and I turn around.
Joseph towers over me,
and without thinking I throw my hands around him.
I'm choking back tears.

It's 11:30pm
and I drunkenly drag Joseph outside.
He knows I want to talk.
No words,
only tears.
I cry into his arms for what seems like forever.
He promises to never leave me again.

It's 11:50
and Dylan yells for every one to go outside.
The countdown begins.

It's 11:59
and we wait.
5..
4..
3..
2..
1..
"HAPPY NEW YEAR."
Carlos is the first to hug me.
Will passes out on a car.

It's 12:03am
and I try to wake Will up.
He finally comes to it.
He somewhat runs inside for more alcohol.
I hastily follow.

It's 12:10am
and Carlos is pouring shots of ***** for the 3
of us.
We drink.
Carlos runs to the sink.
I get him water.
Every one comes back inside.

It's 12:15am
and Carlos hands me champagne
which he refused to give to anyone else.
I drink.

It's 12:30am
and Joseph has to leave.
I beg him not to.
He says he'll see me Saturday.

It's past 1:00am
and Will is in sick in the bathroom.
I take care of him.
Leila comes in
and makes herself puke because she drank too much.
Will cries because he doesn't like seeing his sister like that.
I hold him.

It's past 2:00am
and Carlos is the first one out.
We find spots to sleep.
I'm sandwiched between a snoring Carlos
and a different Joseph on the sofa.
Will is at the bottom.
Hartwell sleeps on the floor.

It's past 3:00am
and every one is alseep.
I lie awake thinking how good it is
to start 2016 this way.
Will is in here a lot, obviously, and yes I have a crush on my best friend's little brother. He's 15, and I'm 17. Probably not a good thing.
Overwhelmed Mar 2014
1 (alseep)

now tell me: how are you?
******

why is that?
I’m ******

how do you know this?
I can see myself
I am but a tower of ****
that walks like a man

how do you know this?
I can see

what other proof have you?
my life

what of it?
it has **** all over it

that says nothing about you
how so?

the bed is not a blanket
because the former
is smothered
in the latter.

there is no
choice.

but there is.

to be good enough.

then chose
become something new
one that is good enough for you

let’s begin,
repeat after me:

2 (dreams)

good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
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good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
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good enough
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good enough
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good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough
good enough

3 (back to bed)**

now tell me,
how have you been
doing?

good enough

say it again
good enough

again
good enough

again
good enough

again!
good enough!

again!
good enough!

once more
good enough

and again
good enough!

again
good enough

I don’t believe you!
good enough!

you are a liar!
no!

you are here to cheat me!
no!

you are here to cheat yourself
no!

you said no lies! no tricks!
there are no lies! no tricks!

liar!
no!

so tell me again!
good enough!

again!
good enough!

AGAIN!
GOOD ENOUGH!

liar! you’re pathetic!
me? you’re pathetic!

how?
you lie!

how?
you told me this would help!

how does that make me a liar!
I still feel like ****!

ah! but do you?
what?

do you still hate yourself?
what?

do you feel worthless?
what?

do you feel like a waste?
what?

for you have just told me
three-hundred and seventy-eight times
that you are not
so how are you?

good enough?
good enough.

good, now again.
Sky May 2016
I feel it coming back again
That little yearning to draw blood again
Shred my skin,
Tear it off
Let me bleed and feel this pain

Tears are rolling down my cheeks
As I try not to scream
My father sits in the next room,
Blissfully unaware
This is one thing I will not share
This is the moment when I just
Want to tear myself to shreds
Just for the pain, sweet pain
I hate feeling numb
Cold
Empty
Give me real pain
Give me warm blood
Give me something to count on

Why is this suddenly coming back?
Oh, all the terror is coming back
Don’t scream, don’t cry
You don’t want to explain to daddy why

And, a mile away, my soul mate lies
Alseep, and dancing with a nightmare
Or awake, lost in the fiction of a video game
Either way he does not know
That I am suffering
But that’s okay,
I’ll keep it that way
For now,
Just let me suffer in silence, alone
That’s the way it always goes
That is how it will always go
Alone, I cry
Alone, I convince myself not to die
Don’t bleed, don’t cry
Don’t scream, and don’t cry
There will only be more pain
If you let yourself fall back

Can I do this? Can I prevent bloodshed,
Fresh scars on my skin?
I don’t trust myself, I don’t know
I don’t know
**** it all, I just don’t know.
Sam Nov 2016
I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow...

Feet on the dash, windows down.
Waving a hand through the soft light
breeze.

And each road leads you where you wanna go...

Driving down the endless dirt roads,
feeling a feeling like no other.

And if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose...

Nobody for miles, No worries in sight.
Feeling Happy, Being Free.

I hope you choose the one that means the most to you...

Tall grass entends over the horizon.
The sun sets, revealing southern beauty.

And if one door opens to another door closed...

Sounds whirling high to the sky,
Hearts pouring out music from the soul

I hope you keep on walkin' till you find the window...

Listening to the instrument from God,
pouring out from the beauty within.

If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile...

Laughter echoing between songs,
showing pride in their true colors.

But more than anything, more than anything...

Open Field, Open Mind,
Open Hearts.

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to...

Truck in park, Headlights on.
Twirling in the light under the night sky.

Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small...

Sparks fly as lightening bugs buzz by,
Illuminating the moment.

You never need to carry more than you can hold...

Dancing is the language of the soul,
spoken through steps and rhythm.

And while you're out there getting where you're getting to...

Words are not needed for times like this,
It has a speechless effect.

I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too...

Falling alseep under the shimmering stars,
With warmth from the angels.

**Yeah, this, is my wish.
My Wish- Rascal Flatts
the times when i can't make it through.
when my mind rambles.
i think of you..
the moment that i fall alseep.
your face is all i see....
when im crying and broken down.
i look for you.
please turn around.
keep me safe.
keep me sound.
walk with me to the end of time.
write me a song.
sing me every line.
i fell so fast and hard and yet.
it is your heart,
i cant seem to get.
lock me up and open my key..
kiss me quick,
kiss me sweet <3
Keenan Dixon Jul 2015
bored
and yet you are alseep
I'd write you a poem if you'd just wake
but alas you head finds solace on a warming pillow
Id call it bored so you
could shrug off the intent without worry
but i called you cause i thought of you first
how does that feel
that my mind traverses your memory
before that of any other woman
no
person
but its called bored.
cause there is no more in the bottle for me
and the fire from the smoke melts my fingers
and you would rather me not think of you
sometimes i'm bored
and i cant help myself
betterdays Sep 2014
her light is dim,
her words are slow,
she ambles now.

no more for her,
the rat race.
no more,
the daily grind.

her food is mush,
she sits alseep, for hours,
in the warm sunshine.

no more hustle, nor
any hint of bustle.

she is stooped
and has made
an art,
of the acts of decline.

no more,
taking orders,
she, bides her own time.

she knows,
her coil is ending
and that, the gentle night
beckons.

but still she whines.

until shooshed and comforted and put up,
into bed.

this old dog, Bess
has lived,
long past her prime.

it is just a sense
of well- placed loyalty,
that keeps her mind
fixed on staying, here
with John...
way past her alloted time.
written for  john..aged 72
and his companion bess
aged 98(in dog years) and the love that keeps them
shufflin thru...
Rachel Giudici Feb 2014
i fell asleep for a second
but only so i could dream of you

i wish i could love you the way i want to
-in reality-
but so long as i am loving you
then let me dream
     let me sleep

i'll only ever have you as a dream
so tuck me in and sleep beside me
because thats when the two touch for a just a moment of a second
in between your morning breathe
in between your sheets
in between your goodnight kiss that never touched my lips...just a brush across my cheek
when you sleep and dream next to me
thats when you, my dream, are so vivid it feels real
but when i wake to find if it true
i long to close my eyes again, again beside you

id only call you a nightmare if dream were ever so accurate to how you wake me so
more than morning coffee
more than alarm clocks
more than turning on the bedroom light!!!
awakened but alseep
but oh, how turning on the night light takes me so...
to lay next to you
to entwine my fingers in your hair
to touch your skin and embrace you- tangled up in me more then the blankets
to hold you so perfectly when your so beautiful lying there
   you and me asleep
   you and me asleep

and maybe you dream of me...
maybe behind your closed eyes you sleep the same secrets
all i know is this is honestly the best part of my life
and to have you forever i hope means that i dream this dream every night
Isabelle Sep 2017
It's been a long time
Since i last had a dream
Funny that last night
After what forever it seem
You were still included in my dreams
-both when awake and alseep

In dreams and reality..



When you are at work but this thought comes to your mind and you badly need to write it down so you sneak from work to get it done
I know a man
who sleeps
with a chiquita
box
as a pillow
on auburn avenue
every day I pass him
at 11:00 alseep
in a nook
of the city
and sometimes
for a second
I think about
bringing him
food
or water
but
I tell myself
tomorrow

now I pass that building
his pillow
and blanket gone
and a hipster
juice store sign
is being pasted
on the window

I light
a cigarette
and smoke
one
I do not stop
and wait
for tomorrow
Mayo T Mar 2014
I ask you to keep talking so I can sleep peaceful
It doesn't mean I find you boring
Far from it
Each and every intricacy of your mind intrigues me
I want to fall asleep in the arms of your voice
For it soothes me
And all the troubles of world melts away
Falling alseep like a baby just fed
As Your harmonious melody
Gently rocks my bed

— The End —