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MPL Mar 2015
Backtrack
You know you pushed it
Backtrack
You know she's crying
Backtrack
You know she was trying
Backtrack
Maybe she'll forget it
Dad.
Autumn May 2014
Man has been gifted a great prize
Although they never assumed it would be their demise
Centuries ago the technology produced
Relied upon humans for a little boost
However now it seems every thought by a man
Requires for technology to come up with the plan
It seems man's intelligence has began to backtrack
Similar to being subdued in a flashback
All the knowledge they've acquired
Is something that cannot not be admired
Their lives are corrupted by the media
They get information from the Internet- not by encyclopedia
There is still a chance for them to turn it all around
And use these faults to help with the rebound
However if they continue on as shown
Their advancements will soon be marked with a headstone.
armon Dec 2013
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds

Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws

There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade

I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height

So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view

Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling

Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog

I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place

Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing

I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
You broke me...
& I allowed it because I so loved the moment before you uttered how I meant nothing. The moment when you could be redeemed.
The moment in which my breathe would catch in my throat.
The moment in which I desperately wanted to be inlove with you again. The moment in which I wanted to delude myself just one more time into believing you might love me.
Believing that you could value me in my human form.
The form in which my exhale became reminiscent of your name.
You were absorbed into the essence of my very being.
You were everything. & now you are nothing.
This is neither good nor bad.
It simply is.
Because you were poisonous and I loved every second of it ; basking in your presence.
I was a wilting flower and oh how your kiss felt so much like rain.
You were incomparably beautiful to me, but beautiful in the destructive sense.
Beautiful like a forest fire.
But you are not a forest fire.
You were the moon- deeply inconsistent.
You could not be redeemed.
Not by your smile or the way my name tasted leaving your lips or by the rare tears you would spill whispering a belated apology.

You were lost to me.
in all your cruelty- completely lost.

Except for when i would stand lonely in a crowded room- your voice sounding like the insecurities in my mind.
In those moments I'd choked back tears and pretended that the ***** was to blame and not you.
I'd Spend the night hurling insults at the stars whose usually beautiful form seemed a grotesque witness to my aching heart.
And then I'd want to hurt you how you hurt me,
scar your soul repeatedly but then I realised you don't have one.
You never did.
Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…
Genoma Freedom , by Jose Luis Carreño Troncoso - Under Edition
ryn Jul 2023
The years had brought me here.
It has been a far walk.
But it’s time I took a breather.
Just to muster a look back.

Many were shed along the way.
Perhaps met with many a forked path.
Or simply that the ticks of the hands
had decided different for them.

I’d dug deep,
and I’d seen you…
Amongst several others.

Making your mark
at every checkpoint.

I haven’t been alone.
And I’ll never be…

As long as you’re here,
making these marks with me.
Thank you all for following and reading me all these years. Your readership means a lot to me then, and all the more now.

Much appreciation and love,
ryn
Big Virge Nov 2015
Everybody lacks ... something ...
That's a ... Fact ... !!!  
  
So ...
Let me ask you this ... ?
What do ... You Lack ... ?
  
Do you lack ...  
" Common Sense "  
or .... Confidence ... ???
  
or ...  
Do you lack what it takes ... ?
to forsake what you gain ...
from living ... just for money ...
like these ... Corporate Heads ... !!!
  
Well money ...
" Certainly " .... Pays .... !!!
  
But ....
Does not ... " Allay " ...
Unhappy Days ... !!! ...
  
Ask those ... who take ...
"Every Piece" ... of the cake ... !!!
  
If they say ... Their Cash ... !!!
Removes ... Their Pain ...
They're being ... Fake ... !!!
  
Question .... ?
what they say ... ?
  
If they lost their ...
... " Loved Ones ' ...
  
Could their cash ... Replace ... ?
" Loved Ones " ... who'd placed ...
Smiles on ... Their face ... !!! ? !!! ...
  
The answer is ... NO ... !!!
and this ... They Know ... !!!
  
So ...
Do you lack ...  
" Other things " ... ?
that ... make you think ...  
  
" What is The Point !!?!! "
of ... Making Noise ...  
about the way ...
we live ... today ...
  
Well ...  
that's okay ...
it's been ... that way ...
since the ... early days ...
of ... " Shackled Slaves ! " ...
  
Many lack ... the ability ...
to face ... " The Truth " ... !!!
  
Do those ... last words ...
Apply ... to you ... !!?!! ...
  
Well ...  
If they ... DO ... ?!?
  
You're lacking in food ...
You should ... Consume ... !!!
  
These days ...  
I Lack ... " Patience " ...
with those who are ...
..... " Blatant " .....
  
" Ignorant Fools !!! " ...
  
Those I find ...
with ... " Narrow Minds " ...
who choose to ... move ...
in the land ... of the blind ... !!!
  
Those now inclined ...
to ... Ignoring Signs ... ?!?
that .... " Indicate " ....
  
.......... " New " ...........  
" Troubled Times " ... !!! ...
for ... "Our" ...
" Human Kind " ... !!!
  
But ... if we pressed ...  
  
"CLICK" ...........  

Rewind ...  
  
I'm sure we'd find ...
Many Things ... " Replicated " ...
Like ...... " Old Pastimes " ......  
  
Do you lack ...  ?
The Ability ...
to want to ... " Backtrack " ... ?
  
Can I ask you ...  
" Freely " ... ?
  
Why are you ... like that ... ???
  
Afraid of what you'll see ... ??!??
or ... what you'll ... FIND ...
that'll ... EXPOSE ... Lies ...
"Cleverly" ... disGuiSed ...
to keep ... The Truth ...
  
hidden ......
  
..... From .....  
" Enquiring Minds ? " ...
  
  
This seems to be ...
... " Planned " ... !?!
  
to ... Ensure Most ...
..... " Lack " .....  
  
" The Ability " .....
  
to deal with ... FACTS ...  
  
Like .....
Why are women ...
Soooo hard ... to understand ... ???
  
In the very beginning ....
They're ... HARD to ATTRACT ... !!!!!
  
If ....  
You're a man ...
who ... HOLDS ... Your Stance ...
THAT ... You give a **** ...
" About " ... Their Needs ...  
  
while those who ... Lack ...
such ..... " Courtesies " .....  
seem to get ... ***** ...
  
Like .... " Next one please !!! "
  
Girls who ... LACK ...
any ... Common Sense ...
are those ... I don't want ...
inside ..... My Bed ..... !!!!!!!!!!
  
But ....
Hell Yes ... Yeah ...
  
I'll pass through theirs' ... !!!!!
  
Now ....
Hear me out girls ...  
Don't take ... Offence ... !!!!!
  
But ....
Too Many ... of you ...
Pick The  ....
  
"Wrong ****** Men ?!?"  
  
Again and Again .....
Your Case ... CLEARLY ...
Has .... " No Defence " ... !!!!!
  
These days ...
There's a .... LACK ....
of ... " Good ol' ... FUN ... !!!
  
Especially with ...
A ... " Good Woman ! " ...
  
..... " Relationships " .....
seem to end ... So Quick ... !!!
  
Before ... " Love's Able " ...
to get a .... " GRIP !!! " ....
and have a chance to ...
  
........ " Sit " .........
  
at the ... Dinner Table ...
That's ... " REALITY " ...
and is ... " No Fable ! " ...
  
Like .... Cain and Abel ...
  
Things are ... CLEARLY ...
Quite .... " Unstable " .... !!!!!
  
Like ... reception through ...
Those ... " Dodgy Cables ! ' ...
  
No ... MTV ...
or ... Sky TV ...
  
But ...  
Here's the link ...
So take ... THIS IN ... !!!
  
There's now a ... LACK ...
of ..... " RELIABILITY " .....
in how .... People ....
Now Seem ... to be ... !!!!!
  
"I'll call you tonight !"
  
"Cool, that's just fine,
I should be home,
by, half past nine,
don't let me down,
I don't like to be clowned !!!"
  
"Trust me man,
I will ring you !!!"
  
" Haven't heard from  
..... THAT FOOL .....
for a whole week now ...
if he calls me with ...
A Poor excuse ...
My mouth is gonna,
leave him ... Schooled ...
and make him ... frown ...
with the words ... I Choose ... !!! "
  
I just can't stand ....
when people .... LACK ....
  
..... " Reliability " ..... !!!!!!!!!!!
  
or ... is it ... Just Me ... ?!?
  
Asking ... TOO MUCH ... !!!
to hope that .... Some ....
  
"Good Ones" ... are left ... !!!
who are .... " Reliable " ....
from ... Start to End ... !!!
  
and deal in ...  
" Honesty " ...

as well as ...
" Respect " ...
  
People ... You TRULY ..
can call ... Your Friends ... !!!!!
  
Well ....
One thing ... I Don't Lack ... !
is a will to ... " Express " ...
through poetry .... sent ....
to my .... Notepad .... !!! ....
  
So ... now it's time ...
to end ... This Rhyme ...  
  
About ....  
Some Things ....
  
That ... WE ALL ...  
...... " Lack " ...... !!!!!
  
But ....
If you think ....
  
You DON"T ... Lack Anything ... ???  
  
Let me just say this ....
  
You are ... DREAMING ... !!!!!!!!!
  
EVERYONE ...  
Lacks something ....
  
That's just ... FACT ... !!!!!!!
  
So .....
Be HONEST ... with yourself ...
  
What Do ... You ... ?
  
........ Lack ........ ???
We ALL ... Lack something, as the piece says ....Dunno what really inspired this, but, clearly one day, the question entered my mind !
A Tale of Two
Her Story>>>>
Today was my free day and I longed for some soothing nature time. I had my picnic basket with some food and wine. I wanted to enjoy my afternoon alone. I was just standing there, waiting for the cars to pass me so I could cross the street to the park. He walked by me and the wind blew his scent right to me. He smelled like heaven on earth.
I am very familiar with many scents and this one was new to me. I watched him walk past me. He was hansom with dark hair are mysterious eyes. His hair blowing in the breeze just as mine was. I love that feeling, being caressed by the wind. Before I knew it he was out of sight. I did not see where he had gone, for I had been day dreaming of what he would be like to kiss.
I continued on my way to the park and found a nice quiet place to read my book. I laid out my blanket and flung off my shoes. I wanted to lay there under the fading sun and enjoy the wind flirting with my dress while I read. It’s a warm windy day and its perfect. I had been reading for 30 minutes before I was warmly surprised by the smell that came to me. It was the smell of the man who had passed me. I looked up and saw him; he was standing over me with a poetry book in his hand. I smiled and invited him to sit down.

He smiled and introduced himself as a fellow nature lover. He didn’t tell me his name and at this point I was so surprised by his presence that it didn’t matter. I sat up and I asked him if he would join me in a glass of wine. He comically answered that he is sorry but we both cannot fit in that glass! I laughed and poured two classes of BlackStone red. He accepted with a smile. I lay back down on my stomach with my book half-open. My heart was beating so fast, he was right here with me and I could smell him, it was wonderful. We were strangers and I had no idea how he found me or why.
"What brings you to the park today?" I asked. He didn’t answer me, he just looked into my eyes for the longest time and then slowly bent down and kissed me. I thought my heart was going to be heard for miles. Surely he could hear it! It was a very long sweet kiss, perfect in every way, as if we had been kissing each other for years. I broke my lips free reluctantly and asked him once again, "who are you?" He opened his mouth and he said, "I came to the park today because you are here" I was speechless, I didn’t know what to say.

I turned over and lay on my back ready to question him again. He was right next to me, a man out of a dream, just appearing from no where. My mouth opened to ask once again who he was and as soon as I did his lips fell to mine in a long wet kiss. He was pure heaven to touch tongues with. I was enjoying myself too much to ask him anything. I dropped my book and heard the pages flapping in the wind while we kissed. My hands made their way to his dark hair and I could not help myself, I pulled him closer to me. There was no one around; we were in no danger of being seen. He moved closer to me and held me tight. I could not brake away from his kiss, nor did I want to.
He left my lips on his own, kissing my neck. He whispered in my ear "I have been watching you for a while now". I suddenly felt a little frightened. I do not know this man at all and yet he is kissing me. He reached past me and into my picnic basket. He pulled out the strawberries and nibbled on one while staring at me. I couldn’t speak, I was staring right back and it was like he had my mind engulfed with thoughts.
He then fed me a strawberry very slowly; juice ran down the side of my mouth. He reached down and licked it off with his tongue. I whimpered, I wanted him so bad. He picked up another berry and took a big bite, the juice feel on my chest between my *******. I looked him in the eyes, smiled and closed my eyes and waited for him to lick it off me. And he did, very slowly lick it off and trailed his tongue down the length of the opening of my blouse.
He began unbuttoning me, my hand went to stop him, and he reached out and held my hand. He kissed my fingers and said, "abandon all fears". I let my hand fall to the grass and let him unbutton me. I was wearing nothing under my shirt, no bra. I felt his breath touch me on my ******, and I felt it rise to a stiff peak. He took a bite of a strawberry and left half of it on the stem. He kissed me once again, and at the same time I felt the chill of the cold half strawberry touching my ******.
This was heaven, my god I felt a trickle of my own juice run from my *****. I was whimpering while he was kissing me. He touched me so slowly and with such care. The cold berry circling my ****** and the kiss at the same time was driving me wild. He moved and began ******* the strawberry mess of my ******. I held his head to my ****** for a moment, it felt so good. I felt his hand reach for my thigh, soft and warm hand just caressing me. He found my wetness and was surprised by it.
I smiled and giggled, what could I say. He looked right in my eyes and told me I was about to get a licking I would never forget. He was very right! He knew what he was doing, and he made me *** so fast I couldn’t believe it. I was in heaven. Still quivering and whimpering I rolled over on top of him. I kissed him like he was my long lost love. I quickly unbuttoned his pants while a stared at him with glazed satisfied eyes. I moved lower and found his throbbing **** staring at me. I took him into my mouth while I stared into his eyes. I saw the thrill he was having as the moistness from my mouth mixed with the wind as I moved up and down. He tasted and felt wonderful and I couldn’t stop myself from wanting all of it for myself.
I heard the noise of pleasure comes from him and suddenly he stopped me and laid me down in the grass next to the blanket. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. He joined me and made love to me in the grass. The breeze blowing over our bodies, the currents within exploding. He stayed on top of me and started kissing me again.

I broke the kiss and I whispered to him, "Who are you?" He simply reached for the wine and smiled. He filled my glass and placed the cup in my hand while he buttoned my blouse and smiled. I sat up and looked into his eyes, why do I feel is if I know him! He bit my thigh and I jumped spilling the wine on my skirt. I ran to the water fountain to rinse it off and when I looked back he was gone. There was no way he could have left without passing me! I was stunned. I went back to my blanket and collected my things. My book was gone, he taken it. And he had also replaced it with the book of poetry he had brought with him. There was no name written in it, no sign of who he was. Just a book of poetry and a note slipped into a fitting page of love for a moment and it read ‘Meet me in the moon light tomorrow night, I will be waiting" and it was signed no longer a secret admirer.

His Story>>>>
I saw her again yesterday. This time when I went past, she seemed to notice me. Like so many days recently, she took my breath away. I remember the first time I saw her; she was wearing a **** black dressed that crossed at the front. Today, she was carrying a picnic basket.
I ducked behind a corner and watched. Who was this woman? And more important, whom is she going to have a picnic with? I followed at a safe distance and watched her unpack & prepare a picnic for one. She started reading a book and I knew she would be there for a while. I don’t know why, but I decided to backtrack and bought collection of Emily Dickinson poems before making my way back to the park. When I got back, my heart pumped hard in my chest. I could feel a throbbing in my head as the blood coursed through my brain.

Suddenly, I was only aware of our immediate surroundings. The sun caressing my face, the wind lapping at my hair. And her. She looked radiant in the dappled light of the afternoon, her hair flowing over her shoulders. Her sensuous mouth twitched every now and again as she read. Something caught her attention and she looked up at me. I was a mess. All I could come up with was that I was a fellow nature lover. I just stood there until she invited me to sit down.
Worse still, when she asked me to join her in a glass of wine, I blurted "I’m sorry, but we both cannot fit in that glass". At least she laughed and when she handed me the wine she asked why I was there. Having made a fool of myself already, I decided that actions would speak louder than words and surprised both of us by leaning forward and kissing her.
Her mouth was beautiful- soft, full lips. I could taste the wine on her lips and as my tongue gently parted them. Her mouth opened to greet mine and I took her lower lip between my lips.
She was reluctant at first but warmed to me and I felt her hand on the back of my head pulling me to her. I was no longer aware of anything but her. Nothing else mattered.
At one point she asked me again why I was there. I couldn’t believe it when I heard myself say that I had been watching her. "Great", I thought. "Don’t worry about looking foolish because now you look like a psychopath". Deciding for the second time that silence was golden, I kissed her again. Our tongues explored each other’s mouths.
I could feel her warm breath on my face and I pressed my body firmly against hers. My leg found its way between her legs as I used it to press on her *****. Reaching for some of her strawberries, I took one in my mouth and fed her the rest. I put a strawberry half in my mouth and lent forward to give her the rest. She bit into it and our lips caressed as she swallowed it. When some juice escaped her mouth and ran down her cheek, I licked it off, running my ******* trail from the base of her neck up to her mouth.
She was now irresistible; I had to have her. I undid her dress button by button. I licked berry juice from her ****** as I felt it harden under my tongue. I ran my tongue around and around her ******, then from the base of it to the tip. I felt her back arch towards me as my hand wandered down her body. The leg, which had been pressing against her *****, was damp. Her ******* were completely soaked and I was astonished to find her completely shaven as my fingers slipped under the waistband.
She opened her legs as my fingers slipped inside her. As I let my fingers caress her ****, I kissed and nibbled my way down her body. The further I moved down, the stronger her scent became. It was intoxicating and I knew that I must have her juices flowing over my tongue. My fingers slipped under her ******* and I gently pulled them down, very slowly. She lifted herself off the ground, inviting me to take them off completely. It felt like I was 6 years old and opening a Christmas present. When they slipped off her ankles, I brought her ******* to my face and inhaled deeply.
The scent hit my nostrils and went straight to primitive parts of my brain. I dropped them and immediately ran my tongue up her inner thigh towards her *****. I stopped before my tongue reached there and let her feel my breath. I enjoyed the smell while I could as I plunged my tongue between her lips and straight into her *****, the sharp tang of her juice stimulating my taste buds.
She tasted as good as she smelled. I made my tongue rigid and slid the tip of it along her ***** up to her ****. My tongue broadened as I delicately licked her **** like it was a melting ice cream. My wet fingers found her ****** and I caressed it to the same rhythm as my tongue on her ****. I felt her ****** build up and a gush of her *** soaked my chin and my chest.
I was aroused to the point of unconsciousness when she suddenly pushed me on my back and straddled me. She was quick to free my **** and took it in her mouth and looked up at me. Our eyes met in a moment that I will never forget. We both knew what was to come. Releasing my ****, she straddled me and lowered herself onto my ****. We both gasped as she opened up and slipped over my head and down the shaft, her **** grinding against my ***** bone. We kissed deeply as our bodies united and we tasted each other’s juices. When I first saw her, I thought how much I would love to **** this angel. But we were not *******, we were making love.
At last, our bodies climaxed as we ****** hard at each other, my **** slamming hard, my ***** slapping against her *******.
We lay on the soft grass in ******* bliss and she asked me again "Who are you?". I avoided the question by biting her thigh, which made her spill her wine. I took my opportunity and left, but not before swapping books with her. I left a note for her asking her to meet me tonight. Such unimaginable beauty and sensuality can only be enhanced by the moons pale light.
a situation told by male and female perspectives
Tim English Dec 2013
Long lost time stretches blacked out questions and
white
in the place where it should have been
A triple threat of time, continuation, and displaced memories
Backtrack
Slapped back into the
black again

I know it's a sin but I ******* love it

Push it, shove it down, choke on the smoke and the fumes of the ancient
Wisdom is the loss of purity
Awakened
Ravaged
Blended back into the swirling twirling Universes, such perverse pleasure in the pain of it all

I love to fall

The wind in your face, blend it with a trace of sweat and blood as it all
clicks
into
place.

I love the taste

Blasphemous and decadent, giving in and giving out to **** it all back in again
RISE and FALL
I grin a bladed smile all the while, never minding the cries
Such pleasure as it dies
All taint of purity reviled

Desecrate the sacred, mutilate this inviolate aspect of creation
Only a seed of destruction contained within the potential
I see and I lust and I take and I ****
Not a drop of precious life spilled
Without cause

The laws remain, rise and fall, rise and fall,
I saw it all and then I sought a call of FLAW
For in the impurity lies perfection
An insecure dissection speaks the truth
As I now lie and speak to thee uncouth
I regret the best was yet to be
Blinded stumbling through Infinity

....just let it be.
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Gambling with Tarot cards,
got The Devil in the palm of my hands with the edges creased,
The Devils in the details and He knows me well,
holding 3 6’s plus card #15 The Mark of The Beast,

it’s when you’re the most up,
that they want you to leave the least,
it’s getting dangerous at the table,
I’ve got the whole pie and every guy wants a piece,

used to trade in seashells,
now we’ve got black cards and private tables for us VIPs,
and the lovely ladies know me well,
like a pizza pie or birthday cake everyone wants a piece,

it’s amazing what a few million will do,
and I’m confident so I don’t need a crew,
rolling solo till my cause of death reads “FOMO”,
I mean if you had these opportunities/risks you’d take them too,

which is why you can always find,
me at the table all in with my chips out,
no kids no wife no significant other,
so I’m spending it all on whichever chics has her **** out,

a conscious writer but still in a man’s body,
so how you like me now,
no Toby Keith or kobe beef,
just these og vegetables,

but I’m not what I eat,
I’m so much more,
and I’m not a meet and greet,
nor a mall because I’ve got much more in store,

so please pass the drinks por favor,

in Colombia with a straw and some Coca-Cola,
drinking so much I feel like the Drink King,
drinking like a Drink King,
listening to Drake sing his song “Controlla”,

in real life no real wife,
I mean I really know Drake,
but anyways I’m not here to get distracted,
so let me backtrack to the point I was trying to make,

which is that it’s tough to stay vicious,
when blessed with the gifts that so many wish to have,
which is sorta suspicious gift the fact that the 6 is,
a card that appears 6 times in the Tarot deck’s stack,

Six of Wands 6 of Swords,
Six of Cups Six of Pentacles,
6 to represent the card of The Lovers,
Tarot decks reflect my self we’re both collectibles,

only difference is with me there’s only one,
maybe that’s why they offer everything in exchange for only my time,
“Here take this money take these drugs take these luxuries!”,
“Take anything that will at least be a chance for me to call you mine!”,

says many Ones often but they are mistaken,
because I can’t be there’s I’m not even mine,
I am no one’s I am no thing,
I am only a part of The Whole which is The Divine,

and I know all this,
I know that I’ve been bestowed with all these blessings,
still I can’t help but fall victim to the sins within Man,
which is why I see you can find me at the table gambling things,

gambling with Tarot cards,
got The Devil in the palm of my hands with the edges creased,
The Devils in the details and He knows me well,
holding 3 6’s plus card #15 The Mark of The Beast…

∆ LaLux ∆

www.scribd.com/document/388173677/The-Holy-Trilogy-Volume-2-Mandalas
Matthew Harlovic May 2017
i think back, i think back
but i never think forward.

© Matthew Harlovic
Jami Samson May 2013
With mechanical portals known to be doors
That either lead to different worlds or take you home,
These cabled vehicles like tunnels on wheels fastened on a railroad track
Stretch to both ends of the universe under a single route.
And as you get in for closure,
You put your trust on the obscure.

Just say the magic words;
It will take you anywhere you wish to be.
Even though magic always comes with a prize,
The only cost are countable units of your time
And also a few dimes,
In return for the travel of your life.

Across the carpeted walkway of reaching out,
Through the glass windows of visible silver lining,
Behind the blank and arid faces that lure the soul to sink in deep wonder,
The lights and skyscrapers, and mist silhouetting the scenery,
All appear in bokeh, all blend in your eyes;
Your eyes that glow brighter than fire on ice.

The coldness lashing perennially on your skin
And shaking your bones to its final breakage,
Couldn't beat the absolute zero amity between these strangers.
But your fascination has enough radiation
To melt the tip of the iceberg
And shine over what's behind their opaque walls.

Settled on the plastic seats that serve as time machines,
They nestle between unfamiliar bodies;
Static, in a state of inertia.
Blocking out force, resisting change;
Like cars stuck on parking mode,
Couldn't bring themselves to unload.

Grasping on loose handles
With a grip more secure than seat-belts,
Some tend to pull away despite of the constant push.
Like engines on reverse, they take time to backtrack.
For all we know, for every action,
Is an equal and opposite reaction.

The brakes hit; there goes a screeching sound.
But when it comes to a break, we don't really hang back
Or fall to a complete stop;
We only slide forward.
For we must keep moving ahead,
In order to keep our balance.

The portals once again unlock to let you out to the open galaxy
And let in another for the same adventure.
You've reached the end of the trip,
But not the end of the road; nor the destination.
For the journey is infinite; you know you are going to ride again and again,
Until you've run out of wishes of where you want to be where.
#18, Jan.18.13
possibly Jul 2016
Since the first day I met you
I've compiled a list of ten things that I wish I could tell you.
ONE: I wish I could wipe that stupid grin off your face whenever you mention your ex-girlfriend because if she's your past, I'm your present and to be honest I don't know what's coming up next, but God knows that I will fight for you. That somehow, some way, although God managed to create the sun and the stars in seven days, you gave me a life's worth of love in the first two seconds I met you. Arms outstretched, eyes not quite reaching mine, your stride as you passed me in the hall was brisk, you looked as though she ****** my name from your lips,
you looked at me,
you smiled and said 'hey'.  You see, there are moments in your life you know you will remember as your mind grows old and fades into nothing, and that was one of them. You said a three letter word in my general vicinity and until today I crave the three worded sentence that will validate everything I wish I could say in the three years that I have wanted to know what you sound like at 7 in the morning.
TWO: I want to **** the name of your ex-girlfriend from your lips because it's just another reminder of everything I'm not.
THREE: I'm sorry I'm not her.
FOUR: Let me backtrack, I'm sorry you can't have her.
FIVE: I love you.
SIX: I don't think I could stop if I tried
loving you. But I can trace my name into you as many times necessary for it to make an impression, indentation on you.
SEVEN: and I will choose you every time she didn't. I will choose you at 2 in the morning and you can't sleep. I will choose you when you are drunk and everything that I'm not falls out of you. I will choose you and hold onto you as though it is the one thing in this life I am meant to do.
I will choose you until the sun doesn't rise and ice freezes over the world because there is no way possible that I could get cold feet when I am with you. Wrap your arms around me, smile, and wake me up in a way words can't, until I am singing with the birds, "good morning". I will choose you, I will choose you, I will choose you. I will choose you when you can no longer remember my name and all that remains is her.
EIGHT: Don't text me at 3 in the morning. Call me, or better yet, come visit me so my dreams don't have to be dreams, they can become a reality. Dreams are great and all, but I'm not about the material, fictional, idea of you. I want you like how I want my tea; pure and without all these little filters. You see, love to me isn't always about the physical. Teach me how to paint and I will paint your name onto every part of me that doesn't remember your touch. Teach me to see the stars and don't stop until I can speak in angel.
NINE: All my poems are about you. The way you are set in an irreversible state of gratitude and how God must have spent two years longer on you just so he could paint each mole on your body in hopes that I would be there to connect them. Or how you never try to stretch too high  so your belly doesn't peak out of your shirt, and wear sweaters in the middle of summer when it is 30 degrees. If you see him, you'll know it's him. He's probably wearing his favourite outfit; heart-shaped sleeves and stars for eyes.
TEN: I wish I could tell you that I see your face in rain clouds and write you into every poem, hoping that you'd somehow find a way to become closer to me. I wish I could tell you that I'm not much of a poet, but you are my favourite poem. You give me writer's block, reminding me that you have to work for what you love, and that if your really, really, really love something, you can't will it into being.
That love is harder than you think it will be, and sometimes it will be messy, and will feel like it's impossible to write again. But all those poems were just practice, helping you get to a new level you never imagined you could get to. You see, in every poem I write I hope to find a better understanding of how you have the audacity to love when everything in your past tells you otherwise. Why your lips are like the composers to my melody, we make the best music. I wish I could tell you that it feel like my heart plays jump rope whenever the ground splits in two and my name slips passed you lips, just before slapping you across the face because not even God could have made my knees fall to the floor and beg for mercy. I wish I could tell you that I am horrible at math because there isn't a number large enough to quantify love. But if I really, really needed a number for the things I wish I could say,
it would be
one:
I love you.
This was one of the last poems about you | I don't feel anything anymore
NuurSeraph Nov 2014
Backtracking towards the Light
oh! Fakir,
brilliant shiny Bright
Neophyte hypnosis, take me In..

oh! Beloved,
fragile tendrils of my desire
heartfully hear me, hear Me..
my heartfelt Prayers,
I do not fear to tread into the highest vapours.

Clandestine Clementine!
not One Breath but Three
times itself, squared.

Blaspheme!
not forsaken, dripping drapes
blindsided, blindly onwards...
not forsaken Sight!
Hear me, Hear Me..
Bless'ed be my Name!
I honestly don't have a clue...
if you do, feel free to share your interpretation :)

(nothing meanspirited please)
M Aug 2014
Honesty is the best policy,
One we've chosen to abstain.
Honestly I'd rather you be honest with me;
Walking on eggshells we could refrain.

Tiptoeing around so we don't step upon the cracks in our floors,
Holding our breath tight so we don't breath in the thick truth-
God forbid we just speak honestly anymore,
God forbid we let all of the unsaid thoughts loose.

Honestly I can't say I know you like I once did,
And that's absolute fact.
All because we have absolutely forbid
Ourselves from a backtrack-

Backtracking to when we could actually talk without thinking before speaking
Or worrying about what we have said.
No worries of the truth leaking
From our honest hearts and heads.

I don't want your meaningless quips,
Your aimless remarks.
I prefered the small notes on slips,
Our conversations in the dark.

Honesty is the best policy,
A policy we tried and found true-
A policy we have declined to upkeep,
A policy we once knew.
Thankfully I have reconciled with an ex and it's really helped me continue to move on and be happier. Like I've always said he's a great person and I missed being his friend a lot when we broke up. Despite reconciling, we're both so guarded and careless towards a friendship and it's sad because I know deep down we both care a lot. Neither of us, though solely my speculation, are willing to speak up and honestly say "hey I really missed you and it ***** that this is what we are now but this is what it is." We've spent so long apart and so long pretending it didn't matter (at least on my behalf, a poor defense mechanism I'm apt to use) that I've started to believe it and I can't even have a solid conversation with him.
Eulalie Nov 2013
I've been trying to write something of substance for quite some time now,
trying to collect fresh thoughts from newer moments of you
and rearrange them into phrases that would gift me a new remarkable piece of the puzzle that is the immeasurable complexity of your soul.
I've been trying to bottle up this obtrusive, demanding feeling of utter awe that comes when you and I climb into our honesty and wear it to bed, side-by-side.
I've been trying to backtrack slightly, wishing so desperately (though stoically!) for the return of those painfully dire professions of unadulterated romance, reminiscing in the saturation of your love letters and how the color red is breathed into me time after time to remind me how powerfully you've shifted the balance of my life.
I love you, I love you, by god, do I love you.
My fears are still the same, though, Darling, and I feel that with the redness of passion shall also come a redness of a quality that pertains to homicidal gore,
for you have, still, that scalpel in your hands,
and my heart blooms every moment of my life, not for its love of me, but for the hope that it may one day bloom for the last time cradled in your blood-soaked palms.
I've been trying to say anything else for a week but nothing will break from the gates and give me a solid night's sleep anymore.
I can't tell you how mad you've actually made me.
Though I do dare to hope that I've evoked similar sentiments in you.
I've made my peace with it, I feel.
A Slow Heyoka May 2019
crazy days
crazy places
crazy nights
crazy faces
turn around
crazy ways
backtrack
crazy haze

colour smothers
colours fading
careful don't stomp
on my crazy paving

crazy dudes
crazy girls
crazy fates
crazy pearls
make it crazy make it good
I wouldn't want anything else
in this crazy neighbourhood
BE CRAZY
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Written on July 07, 2006
Got Guanxi Mar 2016
Icicle heart

I can't tell if it's cold outside
Or
I'm froze inside.
Icicle heart,
melts to raise the sea levels,
Then we drown in tears,
defeated by fears,
we see Devils,
The water is clear,
but crimson cold.
Your
cool calm and collected,
so level headed,
After all this years,
It's the apathy you feel
that makes fools of us.
Now there's swimming pools of regrets,
when
Icicles melt.
A cologne of shame,
pungent in the air,
carried by breath,
to pollenate the common class,
this
Icicle heart,
can never last
at least without
changing state
as
the landscape moves like a bad mood,
but the worst has passed,
and we backtrack.

Scrap that,

Take me back to the start,
Dinosaurs,
reptilian nature,
evolutions mistake,
Are you down for me and
My icicle heart,
melts into the stream,
and down the river it seems
an estuary divides us,
as we reach the sea,
impeach beliefs,
and the buoyant
keeps
my
icicle heart,
afloat,

I hope you feel me.

and
however it may seem,
you were nothing less
than a  dream,
nothing more than a
drop in the ocean to me,
and
my
cold cold icicle heart.
Ben Howard influenced.
Matt Delgado Jan 2017
Some would call it a back stab,
I just call it a backtrack,
Every path that was once unseen,
Is now unearthed right in front of me,
I could say that I'm wrong,
I haven't always been strong,
But in my weakness,
I always bounce back like a reflex,
A metaphor of burning ashes giving birth to a Phoenix?,
But I'm still sleeping,
The giant still grows,
Nearly 24 and not a clue of where my future is going,
2 years, countless hours, spilling out my heart,
A piece of me is out there idle,
Waiting for a spark,
Somebody to notice,
But everybody has their own ideas, opinions and motives,
Square one wouldn't scare me if I had pushed so much,
Maybe I'll be proud if I suffer enough...
Shiloh Jun 2014
I thought I knew once what I wanted
but then you went away
all I can do is keep moving, try my best
but confusion is all that's left

Why do you have be so enticing

as if no time has passed at all

almost like here I am to wait for you

it's not fair, but I'll ******* fall

Missing the daisies between my fingers
kissing the static that still lingers
happy and tortured of the unknown
terrified yet completely bold

No one can blame you

but my heart is all your fault

coming to life with a tick tick tick

the treats or trick will be soon found

That secret smile betrays its hiding place
twitching the corners of my lips
the back of my mind screams no sound
my patience drip, drip, drips...
just blah.
Dondaycee Jun 2018
Why do I have a name?
Why do I feel ashamed?
My skin is darker; kind of black,
I could play the “Why” game and watch the results change into an X looking back,
That’s darker; X squared is smarter than that,
Only with a Y does he search for a trinity in a period for unity, and equate to form,
Yes, I know, I’m speaking as if this information is the norm,
I’ll break it down,
Why do I have a name? I feel obligated to last,
I’m bound by blood; big tree, big three, red ***,
Why do I feel ashamed? Discombobulated because of the past,
Discombobulated,
Cause be: past,
Effect be: last, because my first name took me away from my last,
The irony in me losing my identity and stumbling across DNA so that I could explain how me having red skin was apart of the past,
They asked for my name,
I did not answer,
I do not approve,
They tried to label me: Insane,
I did not attack,
I do not ask; this is my mood,
I do not apply the perception if intuition reply; “data not available”,
That means it does not enter the conception if the logic wasn’t of relevance,
Hesitant, if the manifestations replaceable,
My skin is darker, black,
I was embarrassed to inherit this,
My skin is darker, fact,
Merit in gene pool looping with heritage,
American, as a liability,
Arrogance, it’s sensibility,
Aye Merica, cannabis keeping lies from billy,
Narrowness with the third eye, his sense ability,
Now I could ask why for anything,
And I’ll find the answers when I look back,
Now if I lived in the moment, I would have known everything , I too smart to ever think of sticking to these structures in order to scratch my back,
And if my ego is itching, it’s time for a backpack,
Curiosity; wondering why, had to backtrack,
In third period, he saw her,
Told her back that,
They became one, had a child, another tax bag,
Stability was hard, he spent money,
It didn’t come back,
He cried for God, he was hungry for help; received a PI; this is abstract,
With H in the middle, Phi transitioned circles into spirals, indeed he snapped back,
New lid, imagine looking up and seeing green; snapback,
Did you catch that, how the man’s breakthrough was philosophy,
A philanthropist using philharmonics to express the three in blackjack,
Why play games when we know the outcome?
Like working and supporting economics,
But we all know this experience is not fun,
You’re nobody if you’re not one,
Tried solitude but it’s hard to be spiritual if you’re not one,
Afraid of a breakthrough, so he pulled the trigga,
All that pain because he was just another *****,
Trying on advance shoes won’t make him no quicker,
I’ll be ****** if he lose, we gotta fill the picture,
I’ll be ****** if we lose, we gotta feel the pictures,
Express yourself, invest in health,
We gotta divert from all these written scriptures,
We gotta desert when we see the liquor,
We got a dessert when we see the mixture,
How it’s thicker than DNA, DMT, and Trinity together,
If I relocate promise me you’ll remember me forever,
I went from X and X to X and Y a linear measure,
This androgynous way of perceiving, is how we as a species all come together,
Acceptance is dark and I had a head start,
That’s archetypal for a breakthrough,
Because I’m convinced; I’ve conceived the belief that choice is what makes you,
Choice is what make you,
Choice is what made you,
Understanding choice is the breakthrough.
Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2023
Been lost too long to find the right road
To save squandered time thrown away
Backtrack the past but I'm wasting the present
Cannot erase regret
Tried every which way
I am so stuck right now
I want to know whywhywhywhy did he flush our friendship down the drain.
What I mean is, whywhywhywhy don't you love me?
We sit down with our coffees.
I cannot remember who paid. I think I did. Why? You hurt me, I pay for your coffee? I remember feeling awkward, feeling bad. I want you to like me. I hope, maybe, if I pay for your coffee, you'll pay for mine another time… You'll want to see me again.
You'll want to have coffee with me.
Again.

I don't know that yet, but we only have coffee once more after that, months later. We do not talk about anything in particular. It will break my heart again. But I will get back up. I will gather my heart and let it grow stronger. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

When we sit down, I realize I made a mistake.
You do not want to be there.
I am on the defensive. Afraid.
I have been burned by you, and I do not know why I hope you won't try to burn me again.

This coffee talk leads nowhere.
I backtrack, I want to go forward but I backtrack and we talk nonsense for an hour.
Nothing that should be talked about is talked about. Everything stays hidden in the shadows, together we walk the 'enchanted' walk where everything is beautiful and everything is fine. The broken pavement where I lay my heart to die stays beneath the ashes of what-we-should-have-talked-about.  

We never talk about that coffee ever again.
I do not think either of us mind.
There are darker things buried in all of us.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
here's an opinion that
   requires a dialectical
attache...
no, really, it does...
the following statement
requires
an echo chamber,
a boiler room...
i walked the night streets
mesmerized
by the full moon
and the moonlit kitchen
later at home,
covered in quicksilver
as if watching silver
armor that became my
flesh...
    sometimes it happens
towing a beer...

does English existentialism
even exist?
the 20th century
dogma akin to the French,
genesis with
the Danes and the Germans...

oh, i'm pretty sure it does,
English existentialism
does exist...
   but... i hope it isn't there
in the first place...

it's so placid,
so... materialistic in its
scientific uni-dimensionality...
English existentialism is
primarily, and only,
a version of Darwinism...

it's not that "philosophy"
is undermined...
          come along history,
and physics...
  
i can't be no stretch-Armstrong
working my way around
a posit-approximate of a date,
and date zero of the big bang...

frankly?
i'm bored of English existentialism,
and we're only 18 years
into the 21st century...

**** me, watching eggs get fried
is more interesting...
the fixed rules,
   the whole Darwinism overhaul
of continental existentialism -
that... bugging...
overt-simplification
  of human psychology...
the analogue argument,
the replica, the mimic...
there are various names for
the starting block...

      i'm literally done reading
English philosophy,
never started to read it in the first place,
to begin with...
and i'm sure i never will...

i reread my own attempts and
the best i can ascribe is an embarrassing
limp **** of prudence
prescribed with a dosage of power...

poetry and music...
philosophy isn't exactly an English "thing"...
it's not a national trait to
make conversation over dinner...
unless it's a family dinner shared
before the altar of a t.v.
or the children before a screen
of a smartphone...

   ******* can rhyme, sure as ****...
but can they entertain
a cogitans per se:
i.e. a thinking thing in itself -
a complex variant of solipsism?
don't think so...

as ever... too much biological
materialism...
  which bores the **** out of me,
considering it: overstates
the ****** obvious...

   i hate hearing the obvious...
it's like: well... d'uh! no **** Sherlock!
why don't you shove your
whittle observations into a little
suitcase, throw it onto the train
heading into the unconscious
and stop gloating about the self-evident?!

*******.

i don't get how we can even achieve
pub- / cafe-existentialism's worth
of conversation when Darwin is
omnipresent...
         everywhere i look: Darwin...
everywhere i chose
to **** in an abandoned alley:
Darwin...

                         these rigid structures
of scientific certainty are
bugging me, when those who adhere
to them, have no basic
"knowledge" of the sometimes
pseudo-scientific nature of philosophy...

after all: philosophy is both
a "science", and a "humanism"...
     it's... "gender"-fluid...
       but the English do not think so...
philosophers are not
polymaths, having contradictory
interests...
             and a (as according to the 20th
century French existentialists)
   "self" interest of given artifacts...

English existentialism can exist,
in the 21st century...
but, said affairs be made given light:
it can't backtrack
and fall back on a unison source
of a genesis to craft an exodus from
the 20th century...
    
after all...
   what happened when the Germans
applied a branch of Darwinism?
   eugenics...
   so... what am i look at now?
   if not the purity of ethnicity...
then a "purity" of thought...

            but enlighten me...
what narrative exists outside the basic
cognitive Theta-Q?
        you know: (th)ought?
        consolidated moral questioning
abolished...
the end of ethical inquiring...
            there's the moral (th)ought -
and then there's the freedom of thought...

and who said what, precisely?
****, man...
i'm hearing is the clicking
of a supposed centipede on
a keyboard and e nomine's song
angst...

    i expect this to be a freedom of speech,
as i expect finding a penny on
the street...
              should you care to look
at your feet...

i said ****...
      but i wrote this, instead...
which implies?
a higher category of a freedom of speech:
like Kierkegaard originally said:

people much fuss about their freedom
of speech,
   rarely their freedom of thought...

but i guess posting this in a public
space is a direction transliteration
of thought = speech...

       i don't think so...
i said ****...
                      this... this?
  this is res extensa -
     the extension of res cogitans -
the thinking...
     sure... i could write the same thing,
20x over, and shove it into my puny desk...
but then...
   i could also write this
on a piece of paper, and, by accident...
drop it in the Romford Market Sq.
on a busy Friday, fine fine afternoon.
Kira Jul 2018
I read to forget
I read to feel
I read to escape
I read to heal

I read to remember
I read to distract
I read to connect
I read to backtrack

I’m okay when I read
but it hurts when I don’t
Characters are my friends
when my real friends won’t

The words are my freedom
from this desolate kingdom
Isolated by feedback and uncontrollable flashbacks

I need release from the pain
To breakout of these chains
They torture my brain
looking to blame

I keep running away
from the grief in my mind
I’m tortured by thoughts
I’m not ready to find

I’m trying to outpace my agony and resentment
But my only liberation is to accept contentment

My bookcase is filling with more empty reads
Who am I kidding, what more could I need
I'm fairly new to poetry. I love to use poetry to express certain emotions or feelings, but I'm still figuring out my style and learning more about it. I would love any criticism or insights you could give!
BB Tyler Feb 2014
The soothsayer only smiles and whispers,
stays anticipation and decays til you kiss her.

Leaning in:

Posture is, as much as
a broken back,
lacking.

Caught,
stiff and bare,
in a stare.
"I'm not acting,"

I'm retracting my opinions
backtrack to begin again.
Pinioned by inclusion;
on the right foot, left
to my conclusions.

If it's a game,
then i'm losin'.
Joseph Peterman Jul 2018
what would you do for love
if you knew it would mess you up
what would you do for a second chance
a second dance at prom
with the person of your dreams
love isn’t real
but others will tell you otherwise
some see loyalty and trust
some see bitter and twisted white lies
what would you do to not be alone
does being alone **** your soul
what would you do to get back time
would you continue living behind
would you backtrack your life in fact
would you believe that
people aren’t bad
what would you do if you were someone new
what would you do if it all worked out
what would you do if things went well up until now
love is a lie
it’s fabricated and sewed up with pain
internal organs being ripped away
from out your body
it’s a fractured heart
broken like an expensive piece of china
it’s your persona feeling like diamond
but turning into the soil in which you step on
it’s reaching for the highest cloud that you can see
but still setting your standards lower
love hurts like a scab you picked
the pain is direct and descriptive
like an adjective
or the lie of the life you live
it’s wanting a life but not being given one
it’s saying you’re stranded and want love
but still stranded cause you’re not enough
it’s not what you would do for love
but rather what would love do for you
Alissa Rogers Dec 2017
One step forward,
two steps back.
Every day brings
another setback,
another backtrack,
another reminder
of the things I lack.
My mind never quiets,
I can't take the feedback.
An eternal panic attack,
I should double the Prozac,
it's making a comeback.
One step forward,
two steps back.
We're all just trying to find our way
So don't get in mine
Francie Lynch Mar 2018
There's a Route 22 near you.
A licorice asphalt road,
Twisting as opposing currents of time,
With anticipation and apprehension,
From home, to unknowns,
From comfort to expectations.
A rural ribbon of signage,
And milestones.

I traveled mine yesterday,
In an overdue Spring,
From Melrose to Bright's Grove.
I writhe and bend with its winding,
Former times arise like heat waves;
Mirage puddles flood my head,
Always just out of reach.

I recalled hitchhiking through Warwick,
As I backtrack,
And almost stop
For one today on the curve
Where they sell the garden gnomes.
I once looked wryly at them
When waiting across the road.

Sprawling upright over the northern landscape,
Towards the Co-ops of Arkona,
And the beer store in Thedford,
Wind farms thrive like techno giants,
In a mutant Utopian world.

****** Mary's red sign no longer hangs
Outside the white house in Lobo,
Where she could bring you in touch
With your dead.
Poplar Hill's trees no longer snow in the summer,
The water wheels are seized, barns are exposed.
The lofts collapsed.

I had to stop near a culvert, to listen to the sound of run-off,
The melt reflecting the transition under the sun,
Converging at Black Creek, Pulse Creek, or Cow Creek,
Carrying forward to the St. Clair River and Lake Huron,
Then onward and back.

Weathered iron fences enclose pioneer graves;
Settlers who cleared the dense Lambton forests,
And made the first ruts along my way,
With wagonfuls of backache.
I know well how you fared on our Route.
Warwick: In Canada, we pronounce the second "w".
winter Dec 2015
the land rolls beneath my feet,
but i continue past defeat,
where i am so eager to complete
this one task i must repeat
to go on, and delete
the cheat that is so bittersweet.
Fix me with subterfuge;
one-hundred feigned smiles
crash, condense and disperse,
all because you shot me
that polar glare.

Trick me with posed gesture
and we backtrack, for miles.
Your stare ignites, melts and
drools off of your frozen eyes.

Wet blue tracks
through Salt Lake City;
these roads need gritting,
these walls must melt.
Shannen Bremner Nov 2015
You slid to me
with ice on your heels,  
flame on your back,
the wind in your face,
and the stars in your eyes.

It's a scritchy scratchy situation
made from a wishy washy connotation.
Shift, shaft, shake the muscles beneath my skin.
You crick crack creeped to corner of my grin.

Broken with a kiss, and sealed with a sigh.
You remain my favorite little white lie.
Confessing that I don't know why
I will write about you until the day that I die.

You pretended; I embroider the delusion
with every hiccup of a heart's confusion.
Remember, child, what you can't see?
I won't stop, I still fancy that fantasy.

I pushed you away, but you threw me out.
I was your trash; you were everyone's treasure.
Internally screaming with scarcely a shout,
all in all, the torture was my pleasure.

Backtrack back, to this and our state.
A slip of strength but not a slip of the tongue,
Because like destiny and the idea of fate,
I stopped believing in you when I was young.

So I stole your
ice for my heart
and flames for my belly,
because it's windy in my head
with your stars on my mind
LISH Sep 2017
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when the moment I close my eyes thinking that I am safe you crept up and left me
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when the only thing that is certain in my life you want me to turn around and backtrack into uncertainty
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when you don't even realize all the pain that you've put me through
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when the past of my life is a shadow of a man beating me down with words
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when the stretch marks on my skin are proof that I have done everything that I've can just to hear you say I am pretty and then not believe it
WHY should I tell you I love you
   with all these tears creeping down on my face and you act like they're not there
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when I have given you my bones and every fiber of my being and you responded with thats it?
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when I wrote out my heart on this wholesome message that you acted like i didn't even write it
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when you cant even say it back
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when the moment that you said you do, you put distance on us like I am all the way across the world
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when you question every thought in my mind
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when I'm doubting everything you gave me
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when you say the things I do are not fair
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when you left me for someone else and never looked back
WHY should I tell you I love you
   that the moment you did, you thought that was enough
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when you don't even know how to apologize to me
WHY should I tell you I love you
   when you take back every word you've said
WHY should I tell you I love you
    When that is not all you did
Darby Rose Sep 2016
Today it took me two hours
twelve markers
half a roll of paper towels
and seventeen redos
to fill a whiteboard at my place of work
Today I counted steps
in the sidewalk blocks as I walked
1
1, 2
1, 2
1
only having to backtrack and repeat
twice
Today I stood in the tiny wooden doorway
of my apartment's fire escape
for the entire duration of my cigarette
terrified to step foot on the steel grate
all for fear of the lightning in the distance
because after a brief ocular inspection
I was so certain
that there is no god ****** way this building
is up to code in that regard
Today I couldn't help but wonder
what ever has happened in my life
to once again trigger
these neurotic thought patterns
that plague me from time to time
Dust Bowl Jul 2015
I'm in love with a girl who washes her hair in her bathroom sink every morning.
Truth be told,
She washes it in the kitchen,
But I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea.
Let's backtrack for a minute.
You see she has a shower right behind her
But she hasn't used it since the day the water ran red.
She tells me she likes the way dirt looks under her fingernails,
The way people on the street wonder if she's lazy
Or just excavated a body.
But what's the difference right?
Either way you find yourself in a hole.
I wait for her in the kitchen every morning.
Hand her her coffee.
Watch her stare into the yard as she sips.
I mention the birds
and she sighs something about the night she had to chase away the neighbors cat.
How she wishes her father would stop feeding them.
But you see,
I've heard this story a hundred times.
And though the ending's always different,
Nothing really changes.
Her dad keeps feeding the birds,
And her uncle keeps dying.
Sometimes it's an accident,
sometimes it's a disease.
Either way he ends up in a hole
And her dad only comes home when the birds get hungry.
I picture her sitting cross legged on her grass,
Her eyes envying the way it always shines green,
And I get lost in thoughts of how I'd like to make her my emerald.
But you see she's always wanted to be a diamond,
And there's just not enough warmth in my soul,
Or pressure in my hips
To give her that.
You see she washes her hair in the kitchen sink everyday
Because her best friend killed himself when she was eleven
And let the blood run down the drain.
She dyes her hair the color of a crime scene,
But forgets the caution tape.
She says she hates the mirror in her bathroom and the way the lighting makes her look,
But I've never once seen her bother to open the window.
You see I never minded though
Because the longer she stayed in the dark,
The longer I got to pretend to be her sunshine.
Arcassin B Dec 2014
By Arcassin B and Aniya




AB: Everytime we make mistakes,
We turn around and face the music,
And when nothing is playing,
The harsh reality get realistic,
Everybody wanna put us down,
Everybody wanna put us down,
Everybody wanna put us down,



AB: Unreasonable outcomes,
Shards of glass consisting broken thumbs,
Sadness is unbearable to cope,
Like breathing out your lungs,
Death in the family and misguided by the world of cruelty,
Depression can make up for all our memories,
It was also desperation for the frienemies,
Searching for a better way to fight my hateful riotings,
Heaven sent is troubling,
And life is slowly tumbling,



AB: Everytime we make mistakes,
We turn around and face the music,
And when nothing is playing,
The harsh reality get realistic,
Everybody wanna put us down,
Everybody wanna put us down,
Everybody wanna put us down,



Aniya: Product of a broken home,
Feeling like a broken bone that just won't mend,
Never wishing for a happy ending,
Just looking for an end,

I'd backtrack to a time where I began,
When the dark got out of hand,
So when I could ask for a hand,
But I'm trapped here lacking sleep,
Anxiety won't let me be,
Clawing out of my chest and into these words,
Trying to break free,


AB: Everytime we make mistakes,
We turn around and face the music,
And when nothing is playing,
The harsh reality get realistic,
Everybody wanna put us down,
Everybody wanna put us down,
Everybody wanna put us down.
Collaboration with the young miss beautiful Aniya ❤
Joseph Childress Jun 2014
Memento Mori
The Momentum
Builds
Before I make
My last stop
The brakes screech
As I try to prevent
This
Moment of descent
It's
Tragic that this happened
All at once
Once upon a time
Rarely ends
Happily ever after
Especially
When your not ready
For what’s after
The happiness
Once in time

Memento Mori
Remember this story
Of how a boy
Became a man
Who couldn't backtrack
From this dead end
The tomb stone
Pops up
At the end
Of this book of life
It becomes
The Book of the Dead
A curse
After the gift
Accursed
After this present
Moment of Content
Clarity
Is a rarity
While alive
Why
Does the picture
Become clear
Once we're
About to die

Memento Mori
Moments in mourning
Where's the morning
Out of reach
In the dawn
Of bad news
And breaks
The moon breaks the day
The Up rise
Of the final sunset
Upset
The sunrise
This morning
Was just a warning
To remember
I must die
Carly Two Oct 2012
I'm sorry everything I did was just sweet way to make you leave,
surfing on waves made of maybe I'll kiss you again
getting high off disappointment without knowing that's really how all those movies end.
And all you wanted was my heart on a plate
and baby, maybe I said no,
but I'm still bleedin' from the hole.

And I backtrack all the slanders for the moments you got me to believe in you.

I may have made up a lot of dumb excuses
but they were exclusively to your benefit.
Copyright, C. Heiser 2012

— The End —