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poor mother earth
bent but not broken
bearing her babies pain
like a monkey on her back
if you dont hear his voice when you read this I did it wrong
Arpita Petersen May 2016
Jeg har ikke noget hjem.
Jeg er hjemløs i mine forældres hjem.
Atten år og uden et hjem.
Det ødelægger mig indeni.
Min psyke bliver ædt op.
Jeg er ikke hel.
Hør mit råb,
mit råb om et hjem.
- det at være hjemløs i sit hjem.
T Zanahary Mar 2016
There's smoke on the horizon
beneath an open sea
closing on grainy visions.
In an obscured sky
twin moons merge briefly,
illuminating barren features beneath silver linings
losing brilliance. Imagine
darkness
skirting collisions, spinning
into its quickened cycle, spiraling
radiating some misunderstood energies
thought of as kindness, or kinship.

Veils obscure absent eyes milky white
delicately placed off center to attract attention
      awa  y
to the edges of presen(ts)ce.
Fractures eke out mollified dreams
better left for a different when,
still spied through corner glances
and brief glimpses of a time forgotten.
Stare out through rolling hills,
drifting between currents and canyons
hiding prospects and perspectives
shrinking, shifting topics to
silence,
hours
spent on roads throughout country
we'll never truly see. Hundreds
of miles, with nothing in between.

Let's lay
beneath blankets of estranged forethought
fathers speaking in lost refrains
brothers and sisters spinning in circles
for atten(ua)tion?
attunement?
spinning, bare feet striking
new grounds
leaving paths for those to follow,
what we would have called ours
if not for lost vocabulary.

Between pillars of salt and smoke
we continue along a path founded by ancestors,
tasting our sacred fruits
soured by the lives which watered them,
stains now set to patters,
repeated until they become tradition,
crossing into teachings to which
we kneel
masked by some layer of proper posturing
predictively programmed to provoke
passe (prisms) precautions,
an effect of visual innocence
tarnished, no longer
do we know who hides behind the pierced cowl,
stilled face, lifeless and radiant,
forgotten in sight.

mute, we tell tall tales
of monster's sacrifices,
humanity a frail barrier.
Vapid thoughts dissipate
as leather lungs propagate vacuous words,
bruised rose petals whisper an attempt
at appeasement
lost in the shivers of the wind, briefly
caught only by chance and it's simple
to pretend they never came.

There's smoke on the horizon,
signals rise to prominence
once communication's faltered.
Hollow, revert to body language,
broken and distorted, the veil falls
as we look upon ourselfs from breaths away.
In our eyes a slotted face falls close,
unrecognizable, yet our own
clearly cloaked in cold sun and decorative scars,
an odious inverse to delicacy.
Animals trapped in the same cage
finding comfort in the fury of escape attempts,
pitted against on another
we find solace in our embrace,
teeth bared from true recognition
it was never passion,
only instinct.
My corruptions from the inside
Are My destructions from a blind mind
Stumbling from pit stop to rest stop
Needing more, but running out of time
Craving some real love
Receiving that hypodermic bug
From  fiending
To once again I'm clean
To get spun
Around
The insanity has yet to be seen
Or yet to be believed
That I might have a problem
A medical disease
That leaves me on my knees
Asking please, no pleading please
To God , to Satan, to any power
Magical, mystical, sweet, or sour
From a genie in a lamp
To that ***** I mean witch in her tower
To combine the blue with the red pill
To create a cure or maybe just a crazier thrill
**** there it goes again
The side of my brain
That isn't quite sane
But ingenious plots it still maintains
And executes
Just so we can taste forbidden fruit
And for a moment be in bliss
Where everything makes sense
But then we fall, no crash
Going down to fast
Burned up by atmospheric friction
Unable to grasp full attention
Atten hut
Can't stand strait from spinal tension
And acrobatic catorsions

you
That's right you
addict brain
I'm fighting to just maintain
Some normality
While you fight to obtain every psychological abnormality
That a shrink can write a script for
So you can once more
Numb our brain
So no longer you and I are at war
Because we feel nothing
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
/come to think of it, i'm starting to enjoy learning the second tier of using language, namely the mimic involved in others' punctuation; there's a piquant delight in loaning punctuation ergonomics - unlike slurping oysters... mind you: how the **** do these half-wit neither muscle nor a brain procreate?! i'd love to ******* to that one, with a SIR davie atten-borough-e commentary: and the shells?! such meakness: yet so stringent. punctuation? paul joseph watson: a.k.a. - do the pigeon strut: saved a many life of your atypical metal meathead headbanging.

brexit?

         that's still the same old
clingy toddler's word?

like a **** set against
an impeding whirlwind,

for all i know, "my" people
will not budge,
       or venture to hide in

a border "question":

    strapped to: a ******* island!

— The End —