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Recently I've grown to see
the weakness in my mind.
I'm challenged by the ordinary
resentment I always find.
For I have the great power
to forgive and be forgiven,
but I am lacking in drive and manner,
of which this action can be taken.
I will call myself a blamer
upon myself and many others
my hopeless romantic is a failure
but the lack of hope is from my lovers
they caress control and swindle
and leave me broken poor and ******
it leaves the torn up hard to mingle
and the forgotten hard to miss.
So I'll take stock in my conquests,
despite how little they may be,
I will be reborn a celibate
and set my libido free.
Nothing good belongs in deviance,
sinful, ****** or more,
I will retain what is left of my innocence
and forget all from before.
Jonny Angel Apr 2015
It's not the strange
voices in my head
telling me
what devious
things to do.

I swear,
it's the solar flares
that make me
****.
Jowlough Aug 2011
I regret the times
I've had worked with you.
an inventor of scenes,
Stories untrue.

You tend to drop names
during critical moments,
you only knew errors,
for all your concerns.

A big ******,
you trashed our systems.
never knew your own process
even yourself you can't process.

A pin pointer blamer,
is all you know.
how you do your work,
for a mind that is too slow

Know the art of proper escalation,
where to go, which is which.
before you blame your computer,
blame it on your face, *****.
(c) 2011.8.15 - Blame it on your face, ***** - jcjuatco
As soon as this Templing Fortitude built
Then rid your Ghost from this Heartened Journey
Cast my Ring to Die; From Magma has Smelt
Once hopeful Anvil hammered on Blarney
The News indeed True. If Rumours conceive
One from your heart led much Secrets adhere
Have our Tongues paid for Lies and Coterie
To issue Swelled Bonds of Pain so severe
PIE and PI - yes - add these Fortiments add
Then power your Fumes for Others to choose
But un-tie Tradition; As Jack's Weaning sad
Framed him the Blamer for Peppers you rue.
So would it make sense your Person I pry
And Cast your Kingdom for your Mental's Fly?
#tomdaley1994 #tomdaleytv
jack of spades Dec 2015
suicidal thoughts are kind of like
having a really deep cough.
they’re the tingling sensation on
the bottom of your lungs each time you
start to inhale and if you try to breathe too deeply
they take over, they double you over,
filling up your lungs like water, sloshing,
and suddenly you’re drowning
as you fix your red lipstick.
you’re dressed for the **** and your
hit list stares you down through the mirror every day.
waste of space waste of time waste of money waste of good lines,
a ‘wanted’ ad that specifies ‘rather dead than alive’
because it’s less personal for it to be ****** than to call it suicide.
how sad is it that you peaked in middle school?
that the height of your social and emotional career was
the seventh grade, before all your friends
skipped town in eighth and then
freshman year you weren’t even an ex-friend but
manipulative and they labelled you
‘abusive.’ you find yourself having a
coughing fit every time you remember it,
watery lungs patted dry with paper towels
because yeah maybe you’re all friends again and
maybe they’ve apologized but do they really mean it,
or are you being a victim blamer,
you emotional abuser?
when you wake up at three in the morning
because the creatures in your nightmares are just barely
scarier than the skeletons in your closet,
think about everything you’ve ever done
in the past three years and manipulate it.
give yourself panic attacks over conversations
that have never happened,
riddle yourself with anxiety over what never was,
overexpose the photographs of your darkest memories
until they’re nothing but another lead weight in your stomach.
make yourself sick.
wake up with a throat sore from your
swallowed down screams
wake up with a tingle underneath your lungs
because you know that you’ll never be able to properly breathe,
that you’ll never get a full breath of air without that cough
swelling up and leaving you gasping
remembering some stuff
Portland Grace Mar 2011
Your smokey breath upon my face,
you shouted your casual cruelties,
humiliated me in places deep inside.

Look through me now,
for I am no longer here.
I ran long ago.

Don't try and find me,
I am lost within my walls,
I fall every second,

I'm not much of a blamer,
but this was not my fault,
you pushed me to the edge.

And I fell.
ALamar Aug 2015
Blamer of the world
Cycles of unresolved hate
Fake egotism
A Haiku consists of 3 lines and 17 syllables
Kurt Philip Behm May 2019
Back in their nests,
  birds chirping out loud
Retreated in bed,
  a boy dreams ‘what if now’
The moonlight not finished,
  what it started before
The church clothes all hanging,
  alone on the door
What once was thought ended,
  began then again
What never befriended,
   a new search to begin
The glass from the parlor,
  the long darkened hall
Reflections of squalor,
  distant riches to call
A bell starts to ring,
  signaling all bets are off
As a meadowlark sings,
  of eternity’s cost
The revelers revel,
  the sanguine proclaim
As the church starts to fill,
  and they’re calling his name
Any proof in the pudding,
  has now curdled and soured
As the chalice is filled,
  with a vision most dour
The mood is entranced,
  as time starts to drip
The minutes and hours,
   all scattered in bits
The reasons no matter,
  alone as before
And all sanity worships,
  death closing the door
Your collar goes on,
  white starched and unblessed
Your sermon made ready,
  for those still to behest
And what might you offer,
  where the prisoners hide
What salvation is proffered,
  when funded by lies
The eyes looking back,
  fixed distant and low
The eyes looking back,
  from the pews far below
Surrounded by elders,
and deacons to scold
His eyes were then only,
  but thirteen years old
The distance seemed fatal,
  the distance seemed grim
But now looking down,
  it was all about him
To one then so young,
  and so new and so fresh
Still wanting to believe,
  in not leaving the nest
Surrounded by neighbors,
  deceivers and friends
Dressed all in his finest,
  his hair slicked on end
His eyes remained down,
as his thoughts drifted up
His face never frowned.
  as your sermon erupts
“And what must this youth,
  think of me on this day”
Your collar getting tighter,
  praying mantis to prey
The height differential,
  the power sublime
The stairs leading up,
  for the blind to then climb
And once at the top,
  all so distant below
And once at the top,
  nothing there left to know
The birds dare not enter,
  the hawk or the dove
The cougar at center,
  devoid of all love
The peacocks outside,
  all withered and gray
The peacocks remembered,
  in colors portrayed
The hand bills were placed,
  at the end of the pews
A message designed,
  to riddle the stew
Caught up in the fable,
  caught up in the lie
To burn down the stable,
   horses scream as they fry
But the truth knows its teller,
  …that told in the end
Whose message is heaviest,
   where meaning transcends
Belonging to no-one,
  to you least of all
And to only itself,
  as the just heed its call
The blamer blasphemer,
  false prophet and *****
Silent screams from the pews,
  that they need something more
And in private you suffer,
  with a collar so tight
While in public you bombast,
  to portend and to fright
The law here unlettered,
  the reason unschooled
All souls once unfettered,
  no one left to rule
You know your time’s short now,
  all sins in the brine
That boy just below you,
   to always remind
You start at the beginning,
  you restart at the end
You start where you stopped,
  to get lost once again
As your powerful confusion,
  escapes you today
Using cryptic delusion,
  to parry and feign
Beget not the begotten,
  claiming all for yourself
All virtue forgotten,
  all feeling unfelt
If it mattered whenever,
  if it mattered at all
That meaning is hidden,
   as you struggle and fall
Accuse if you must,
  saying again to yourself
Betrayal acutely,
   is gifted unfelt
Benediction now burning,
  communion’s last host
All tides begin turning,
  more meaning to toast
The blend is left thickening,
  ruination sublime
Intention the most wicked,
  unfiltered unkind
The brave don’t get braver,
  as cowards rejoice
A knave in the shadows,
  to hide from his voice
The bend in the circumstance,
  the straightening lie
The clue that was missing,
  its poisoned reply
Walk down from your pulpit,
  those steps that won’t end
The pride and the fury,
  you stole to pretend
Looking out at the parishioners,
   his eyes are still down
And you know without asking,
  that his soul has left town
As you take your last breath,
  speaking then your last word
What once was a boy,
  separates from the herd
He gets up, turns and leaves,
  without once looking back
Your collar chokes fatally,
  his rejection attacks
The gathering outside,
  all merry and gay
The most devout neighing,
  like a horse in new hay
The church social breakfast,
    all slaps on the back
“Another great sermon, Parson,
  we had to hold our tears back”
A boy heads down the lane,
  head neither bowed nor *****
No breakfast for him,
  all celebration dissects
Knowing what he now feels,
  you will never beguile
Walking in through the back door,
  his elderly aunt smiles
Asking, “Is everything alright
  you’ve been gone quite a spell”
Her concern most maternal,
  in her thoughts he would dwell
He answers, “Everything’s fine,
  as his father distills
And closes the window,
  saying: “It’s starting to chill”
He walks up thirteen stairs,
  and lays down on the bed
Looking straight up above him,
  a floating image now dead
Asleep before noon,
  in his dream meets his peace
Knowing surrounded by doom,
  he must now leave this place
He is up before dawn,
  and back out on the lane
One sack over his shoulder,
  one orphan to claim
And the walk to the harbor,
  is rocky and steep
His trek ever steadfast,
one promise to keep
Signing on to the first ship,
  that’s now setting sail
Setting a course that’s uncharted,
  in a sea of travail
The clouds ever darker,
  the waves though they fall
His soul is on fire,
  his spirit on call
With the ship disappearing,
  beyond sight of all land
His future now clear,
  his mission at hand
That first day on board,
  and first night below deck
Were the first that had ever,
  held him safe in their net
With dawn’s light he climbed,
  to the crow’s nest above
And said ‘Thank You” to no-one,
  his future ungloved
And he sat there for hours,
  till his name was called out
His past now a memory
  —his heart free of doubt

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2014)
I wouldn’t say that life is fair,
but sometimes the wind blows in our favour.
We do sense tension in the air, every time life issues a disclaimer.
In life you may be coerced,
in to becoming a self blamer.

What bitterness and grief has life in store for me?
If only my good deeds redeem me from being a shamer.
You may mock me for what I am today,
but tomorrow to your deeds you will be a claimer.

Whatever good you do along the way,
will come back to save you when you need acclaimer.
On earth you have no time to spare,
on your target you should be the aimer.
Life can be shocking sometimes, but no need to be the exclaimer.

It’s little things that do count in life,
if to your soul you want to be a tamer.
A friendly smile or a nod of the head,
to your self-esteem you will be a reclaimer.
Or a kind word that might earn you respect,
or for which you could enter the hall of famer.

Honour your word and gain peoples hearts,
to your reputation it won’t be a restrainer.
Seek wisdom in the womb of life, to your dignity it will be a maintainer.
Don’t sell your soul for what it’s worth,  
unless you want humiliation to be your enslaver.
Asleep in their nests
birds dreaming out loud
Just outside his window
new questions aroused
The moonlight not finished
what it started before
The church clothes still hanging
on the back of the door
What once he thought ended
returning again
What never befriended
new searching begins
The glass in the parlor’s
long myopic hall
Illuminates squalor
and all he recalls
The ringing alarm
signals all bets are off
As the birds start to sing
of eternity’s cost
The revelers revel
the sanguine proclaim
The church starts to fill
and they’re calling his name
Any proof in the pudding
has curdled and soured
As the chalice gets cleaned
and the vision devours
The mood is enhanced
and wine slowly drips
The light through the stained glass
distorted in bits
The reasons no matter
alone as before
And sanity worships
death closing the door
His dress shirt went on
white starched and unblessed
The sermon made ready
for those at behest
And what might he offer
where prisoners hide
Salvation most proffered
when funded by lies
The eyes looking back
fixed silent and low
The eyes looking back
from pews far below
Surrounded by neighbors
and men who’re once bold
His eyes were then only
but thirteen years old
The distance seemed fatal
the distance seemed slim
But now looking up
it was all about him
To one then so young
and so new and so fresh
Still wanting to believe
in not leaving the nest
Surrounded by elders
deceivers and friends
Dressed in his finest
his hair slicked on end
His eyes remain down
as his thoughts decontruct
His face never changed
as the sermon ramped up
“And what must the youth
think of me on this day”
The Vicar’s thoughts looming
praying mantis to prey
The height differential
the power sublime
The stairs leading up
for the blind then to climb
And once at the top
all so distant below
And once at the top
nothing new left to know
The birds dare not enter
the sparrow or dove
The belfry stark empty
devoid of all love
The peacock dismembered
in colors of blight
The peacock remembered
in times that were bright
The hand bills are placed
at the end of each pew
A message designed
for only the few
Caught up in the fable
caught up in the lie
To burn down the manger
lambs scream as they fry
The church social breakfast
has started out back
Hoping for: “Great sermon Parson
had to hold my tears back”
But the truth knows no teller
but what’s told in the end
Whose message stays mired
where all messages end
Belonging to no-one
to him least of all
But forever himself
as he must heed the call
The blamer blasphemer
the architect *****
Silent screams from the pews
that they need something more
And in silence he struggles
his collars’ too tight
For clerics who bombast
portend and then fright
The moral unlettered
the reason unschooled
The soul when unfettered
no one left to rule
He knew the time short
few stairs left to climb
That boy once malingered
to always remind
To start at the beginning
to restart at the end
To start where he stopped
as a stranger again
Overpowering reluctance
consumes him today
And with cryptic delusion
he parry’s and feigns
Beget not begotten
claiming unto himself
All virtue forgotten
all feeling unfelt
If it mattered whenever
if it mattered just once
The parson calls out
to approach and exeunt
Reversing his trust
shouting but to himself
“Betray now adroitly”
this ice cube to melt
Benedictions unburning
inside the unhost
All tides are returning
last turkey to roast
The *** is left thickening
ruination sublime
Intention most wicked
coming only from mind
The cowards stay victim
the bravest rejoice
A knave neath the roundtable
never his choice
The bend in the circumstance
the straightening lie
The clue that was missing
the unquestioned reply
Walk up to the pulpit
three steps that don’t end
The pride and the fury
pontificates rend
Looking out at the parishioners
their eyes staring down
He knows without speaking
rivers crossed, bridges down
As he takes his last breath
speaks his last final words
What once was a boy
separates from the herd
He steps down, turns and leaves
without once looking back
The parson stabbed fatally
his parsonage wracked
The breakfast is ransacked
left plundered and frayed
The devout are heard neighing
like a horse without hay
Heading straight down the lane
neither bowed nor *****
No breakfast for him
celebration dissects
Walking in through the back door
his Aunty Ruth smiles
Asking, “Is everything all right”
you’ve been gone quit awhile”
He says: “Everything’s fine
as his father distills
And closing the window
say’s: “I’m feeling a chill”
He walks up 13 stairs
and sits down on the bed
Looking straight up above him
childish images dead
Asleep before dark
in a dream meets his peace
Knowing surrounded by doom
he must tomorrow retreat
He is up before dawn
and back out on the lane
One sack over his shoulder
one orphan to claim
The walk to the harbor
is rocky and steep
His gait ever steadfast
a promise to keep
Signing onto the first ship
that’s ready to sail
Setting a course still uncharted
in a sea of travail
The clouds getting darker
the waves though they fall
His soul is on fire
his spirit on call
With the ship looming outward
beyond sight of land
His future to clear
his mission at hand
That first day on board
and first night below deck
Were the first that had ever
held him safe in their net
With dawn’s light he climbed
to the crow’s nest above
And said ‘Thank You” to providence
vowing his love
And he sat there for hours
his past to enshroud
New horizons were calling
— he never so proud

(Oregon Inlet: June, 2003)

— The End —