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slay Nov 2018
Patience is progress and
While im basting in sauces
Calculating and calibrating all of my future accomplishments
In a world already too full of Batesian mockers
Feathers and followers
Glammed out like the ***** with her hands out and collars up
When will my *** ever run it up ?
Talk to me back like i owe you one
I can finally let my hair down, **** a bun
**** a lot of things ive outgrown or one up'd
Im so clean with a brush,
Im like a vision and such
I'm a ***** and an ******* at the same time; im ******

Stretching my mind as far as it goes,
Im in over my head and it's starting to show
All my thoughts are the size of my brain will implode
All the venom is leaking from deep in my soul
It's fascinating, time is circlulating faster than i can control
Tell myself that when the self is hibernating
There's a certain self awareness, only comes with reparations
In the void, incarcerated and
It's taking its toll
Whether wasting or waiting,
My kinetics all froze
Am I broke?

Every last breath that I've took
Has been a signal through parallels, my mind's somewhat shook
But this voice in my head is demeaning as ****
I might make myself choke just to shut that ***** up,

I am broke, but

Patience is progress, I'm told
Might tattoo that **** on my eyelids, stay woke
I'm consumed by its growth, ******* creepin, they know
That patience is progress
King Kong with my balled fist
On my chest chiefing and coughing the edge off my concious
I'm not really sure why some of you are so bitter and heartless
To **** a ***** vibe
Regardless stay chillin, im glossy
The bags bout in my pocket
I just stopped for every rose in Persephone's garden, and
Each one is sweeter, I taste Dyonosis
Ugh, I'm so flawless
I swear, one day I'll be better at all of this
Patience is progress
Paul Goring Jan 2014
I find
some eyes
shine innocent
naive with
camera love
unconscious gaze
that gives
warmth back
not the
pouting posing
dead eyed
child woman
making mock
of what
she thinks
the world
wants of
high gloss
no warmth
gangster prankster
cover lover
joren's Feb 2019
wish this was only
my existence
i could give up
on persistence

convincing my concious
that its morally fine
ignore the repercussions
of my suicide

wish it all washed away
when we take the ferry
but the world still flows
and memories are carried
A thought process apart of justifying suicide to your concious. What if this is just my personal simulation and everybody else has theirs. I'm only dying in mine. // = WIP
nivek Apr 2014
Addicted to love
in spite
of oneself
dionne Aug 2013
Self concious always worried about what people think
Seeing my self sink
Watching them talk
Like they planning to conspire against me
ι wish ι could just be free
from all the things that bind me

ι'м starting to trip
ι'м losing my grip
And ι'м in this thing alone
With no purpose and no drive

Yess ι see you talking
If you only knew ι'м hanging by a thread
ι'м lucky if ι ever see the light of day
As my walls close in
ι watch my enemies belittle me by nodding me the penalty

Self harm seems to be the only escape
While you looking for the red tape
Smile on your face . But we all know its fake
For goodness sake
**** me than lie to my face .
jad Apr 2013
I've always fancied myself to be a care-free person
I never  give a hoot as to what people think of me
I know that I  am good inside, if others don't I shouldn't mind.
But there are certain words, insults, and phrases
That I cannot brush off, with a HAH and a cough
Things I tucked away, sent to bed years ago.
But sometimes these self-concious demons
Get up to ask for water.
"You're so aggressive"
I am not aggressive,
But I am not a swan princess, do not expect me to be.
"You're such a brat."
I'm am annoying when I am,
But I am not a spoiled 8 year old.
"You're so fake"
I am kind to all whether I enjoy their company or not,
I do not gossip. ever.

Do not make claims about my being
I know my faults better than those who observe them
I am working hard at them, to be a better person
I do not need help
There is no benefit when hurtful words are expressed
I know me
You know you
Why should you try and make anyone better but yourself?
If there was more focus inwardly on being a better person
No one would be sad.
Or bad.
Or self-concious, not even a tad.
not a good poem, but it relieved my anger
TSK Apr 2015
No strings attatched
They loudly proclaim
As I feel a subtle tug.
This way, that way,
Upwards, down:
A guiding force
So small, so menacing.

No strings attached
They tenderly whisper
So close to my ear.
Do this, play that,
Lie here, forget:
My tiny concious
Easily crushed, easily displaced.

No strings attached
They persistently hiss
As I back away.
But why, what if,
How come, explain:
Life is a stage
So who is the puppeteer?
Joann Rolleston Jun 2014
Now, the truth

Luke & Leia is this love
Thank God not the wrong kind
Siblings apart since birth
Together till the end of time

Darth vader concious
Dark, evil, twisted
Luring Luke innocent
No Luke! Don't do it!

Doesn't matter he's your Dad
Doesn't matter how sad
He doesn't give a hoot
Who on earth he shoots

Stormtrooper beware
Puppet of your master
You will be beaten big time
By a gorgeous little Ewok

Chewy & Han
You are the man
Milenium shoots them all
You saved the day
Kept Darth vader at bay
You saved our heros

Poor Han solid
In some ungodly squalor
Not the nicest end
Certainly not Han Solo's plan

Geez George ... really ...

Tin & metal
R2, See threepio
Nitter natter chatter
Lots of friendly banter
Cuter than buttons
You just wanna hug em

Jedi Knight Yoda
Played his part of course
Strong in force
He helped the cause
Although he has passed over

Goodness wins in the end
Good force takes the flag
Mighty, Epic, Timeless
And gloriously mad
star wars
amme Nov 2016
Skating on thin ice my whole life like a figureskater.
First price on sight but the stripes, resembles a broken picture.

A golddigger... Go figure.
Writing straight from my heart so every bar tender. I remember a night in december,
from a walk in the park to a shot in the dark, I wasnt that cleaver.
Pretended to be concious and smart but now the scars on my arms shows that Im a beginner.
Sober for 3 years yet addicted to your liquor.
Sparked my transmitter when ladys slipper fell off after our first dinner,
But I never knew cinderella was a heavy hitter.
Couldnt connect the dots so now im on the ground with seven stars above my head like I got hit with the big dipper.

But **** all the modesty, I just need honesty...
My writtens a blasphemy (blast for me) but I can't be myself anymore like broken prophecy so God,
accept my apology, beacuse there's a monster inside of me that produces sick thoughts like it knew biology.

Some might say im insane but **** my brain, my heart is always by my side. Deranged thoughts but love tells me when its a lie.
So stay in my lane and embrace the fact that we all are going to die or live to busy and miss the heartbeat that takes you to the otherside.
Kalvin Moon Apr 2017
When I look into the moon I see the only dependent part of me that still exists. Its as if the silence in her vocal cords spoke words of solitude. I gave her the only bio mechanical part of me that mattered.

The gears in my chest keep turning like clock work.
I count seconds into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into days. I keep thinking time is standing still while im still standing still.

I'm waiting, waiting on patience and as unjustified as it sounds I'm impatient. Dreams are just your natural thoughts heavily sedated, a sub-conscious reality based off the feelings we cant display them.

I don't consider myself a writer, I see the constant flow of words and as a kid it left me inspired. I'm more of the sub concious reality type. I drink coffee and outside of that I really don't have a life.

For me writing is self exspression without being judged by others.
I opinionate my feelings and organize them in ink. The papper is my empty canvas, my thoughts are my judgment, and the pen is the deliverer.

Sometimes writing is the only thing that can stitch my wounds, like the words curved inside my brain penetrating like the needlesof a tattoo. I wonder what will become me, in what paradox will I redeem the sum of me?

I just hope this bio mechanical heart ticks away. I hope people continue to be people with different mindsets and open steeples. I want love to be found and dreams to be created.

Kalvin Moon
Me spilling out my brain in thirty minuets.
Everything with us seems perfectly entwined,
Like Lego locking together,
It just fits like we should know but don't,
Is this another life lesson I wonder,

You are actually perfection on a plate,
All my wishes confirmed for my eye's to feast,
You listen, converse, laugh, speak sense,
Your like my concious more innocent,

When alone in my thoughts I know,
I fell in love along the way,
I'm evaporated by your honesty,
Our souls melt into the Ether,

Alien yet familiar fears dwell,
A fool for love and lust,
Heart brashly on sleeve,
Afraid I'll chemically combust,

I cant see your thoughts either,
Are you just honeymooning this new behaviour,
Don't misread that I'm wanting it fast,
My heart prays to God It will last,

All I need is something more concrete,
I cant sweep this away just for encase,
Every waking moment I long to embrace,
In you my love knew we would meet,

But for now we go with the flow,
Fear you will bin me for another,
All helplessly in love and lost,
I'm almost certain my heart'll pay the cost,

We lock just like Lego blessed from above,
Humanoid Lego a gift of true love.

© Susan Michelle Baker
shadesoflost Jan 2014
when I was seven years old
my family started going to a Christian church
and all I thought about was
how the pews that we sat in
would have done more for God as trees
and they said to love our neighbors
because God wanted us to love our neighbors
but I love my neighbor
because his windows are lit up at 4 AM
a time when only the miserable are concious
and yet he always smiles at the postman

when I was thirteen years old
I visited a Buddhist temple with my friend
she showed me how to meditate
but sitting so still made my skin crawl
and she told me about karma
but I wasn't sure what it was
that my little sister did
to get bad enough karma to die at nine years old
she only ever left out granola bar wrappers
and sometimes forgot to say "thank you"
but karma sent her a drunk driver

I never understood religion
the only temple I ever felt at home in
was the hand of my lover
and I never felt the presence of God
but I felt the anguish
of my postman
as my neighbor began to lose that light in his eyes
and I may have never read the bible
but I've run my fingers
across a thousand trees
and they guide me when I am lost
I never beleived in a higher power
but I believe in my sister
who used to pick at threads on her church dress
and to my mothers dismay
ruffled up her perfectly curly hair
no God would **** her
Catrina Sparrow Nov 2013
there, in those strawberry fields of dreaming-
those blooms of a season long since dead and torched-
     i swore i found you
and you were speaking sweetly in a smokey room
with a crescent smile
and a cheap long-neck bottle
and a blue ball-point pen
that you'd only pry from it's waltzing
     to chuckle with (and charm) the bartender

an older lady
with muddy-water curls
and poision ivy eyes
     and...there's something about her that reminds me of my mom...
then the moment's gone
and now, all i can wonder
is how it is that she's counting change when she hasn't got any fingers

the captain must be on the mic again
with bull-**** banter about the weather
     or our eventual destination
     or something about the turbulence to calm the unfortunate un-drugged
his monotone monotony
sneaking through my sleep to me
     and coming through like the voice of the radio host
     as my head's beneath tepid bathwater

your ellegance uneffected by his audible intrusion
into my sub-concious dellusion
     you pull at the tides of your brew
     and wink
then back to a busy pen

     i have to get to you
you've got to remember
come back

but dreams don't work like that

it's as if my feet don't match my body
or my legs are facing backward
or i'm in that godforsaken hallway scene of "The Shining"
     and i'm finding this to be far more frustrating
     than remaining concious through the flight could have ever been

and again
somewhere over nebraska
the ride gets increasingly shaky
     not obnoxious enough to wake me
     just enough to take me to the part of the nightmare
     where my teeth start falling out
          like precious little gems of vicodin and nicorrette
               t a p p i n g out my fragile skull
and now i'm wearing some ******-gummed grin
and that charming lounge is feeling like "From Dusk Till Dawn"
and all of the friendly faces are gone
     except for yours
          and you look horrified

how come now i've got your attention?

touchdown at o'hare
and i wake in the window seat next to a vacant chair
     alive and well
except that you're not there

and to think
     when i was a kid
          my nightmares all had fearsome beasts
then i grew up
          and found the monster to be me
**** you, airport bars
and ******* cars
     who drive the kindest men
     into the heart of hell
Styles Aug 2014

When you think about it, its pretty simple.

Just live it.

Nothing hard about that, right?

I mean, what's hard about being honest with yourself -- especially when you have a voice inside yourself, constantly reminding you, of who you are.

I wonder how life would be, if we all had that voice set to the same volume. My best friend, a 12 year old, overweight pitbull, named George doesn't hear very well anymore. So he can't hear someone calling his name -- warning him, or reminding him of good and bad.

I guess he has an excuse - what's yours?

I mean, we all have the voice right? It's called a conscious -- I call mine a pain in the ***, but he's always there.

I hear him loud and clear.

Do you?
doa Jul 2018
so many times i’ve dreamt of you, but ever since you left, i’ve only had one dream about you.
we were laying on the bed we first made love in, and we looked deeply into each other’s eyes with care and interest.
our tongues didn’t waltz with each other like they used to, our hands didn’t grab at one another like they used to, our bodies didn’t compress close enough to each other to leave no space in between one another like they used to, instead our words sunk into one another like they used to.
we spoke about the changes that have occured since our fate split us apart, our new stories and memories and experiences that did not include each other. and we laughed.
and the sight of your smile was always my favorite, but this time it only hurt me because it was a reminder of a vision i’m now only able to see when you stumble into my dreams by accident when you're on your way to the other woman's dreams.
Natalka Aug 2013
A** pple pie, freshly baked from the oven. I don't wait for it to cool, I want it hot, with a big greedy scoop of vanilla ice creams melting next to it.

B oys. Cute, querky, gross, crazy, but amazing. You can't stand them, but for some reason you need them in your life.

C ookies. Warm, fresh-out-the-oven, gooey choclate chip cookies.

D  is for dancing. Dancing in the rain with my eyes shut, screaming at the top of my lungs and not caring what anyone thinks. Just dancing.

E lephants. Strong, old, smart and beautiful creatures. Harmless yet protective.

F stands for foxes. More specifically fennec foxes. Adorable, small, cunning, cute and most of all, want by me!

G iving. Not just material items, but hope. Giving hugs, and smiles to those who need one. Also, For-giving.... letting go of the past and moving forward

H eartbreak. The feeling of no being able to breathe, not being able to speak, or make sense of everything without your "other half." Moving forward slowly, cautiously, because there are more around the corner.

I Me. The broken, yet strong; beautiful, yet self concious; smart, yet lazy teenager.

J is for Jenna, my first best friend. We aren't best friends anymore, but we still talk, and enjoy catching  up in eachothers lives.

K issing. I love kissing. I mean come on.... everyone does ;)

L ove. A strong, complex emotion which many guys lie about, and which I do too. I think I've only ever once loved my partner... all the rest I enjoyed...

M om. My mother, the woman who decided "I'm going to take the qwerky, adorable girl home to America with me and make her part of my life."

N is the first letter in my name. Natalka Hannah Evangeline Kmiotek.

O veracheivers. The people who make fun of me, because they can do things better then me, and everyone else. ******* all.

P erfection. Skinny girls with perfect *******, and big *****. No scars, and white teeth. the opposite of me.

Q uiet, as in I have to stay quiet or they'll hear me. Who? My demons of course. If I'm too loud, they will come for me and drag me back to hell.

R stands for two things. The first is **** A horrible word describing a nightmare you wish you could forget. It's being robbed of your first touch by selfish men, and being back into a corner against your will, forced to stay silent.

S is for strength. The strength to overcome, the strength to live, the strength to move on.

T hank you. To everyone who has ever been there and listened to me...

U nderstand why I cut myself. Why I hurt myself. It's easier to deal with physical pain, then the emotional kind. The emotional pain rots and festers inside me, destroying everything. It shuts my lungs down, forcing me to gasp for air.

V acations. Small escapes from your daily life, into something glamourous and relaxing. The warm sand between your toes, as the hot sun beats down on you. The cool ocean kiss the tips of your toes, cooling your thirst.

W hen will pain end? When will people stop being mean to eachother? When can I expect my child to be able to go to school and not be afraid of the other students? When will I be able to walk outside, and finally be able to say "I am safe," not having to lie.

X plain to me why people put others down? Why are there perfect models and barbies, telling us how we must look, how it's acceptable in society.

Y es please. Thank you. Simple manner, dying out, almost extinct. What happen to being nice? Or do we now, just take what we want? Expect everything, like the world owes us.

Z ach. He was my first love and my first heart break. With him, when he left, the floor caved under me. We were one of those couples that would break up, and get back together then next week. I guess you sould say we were crazy for eachother, but when he left, I guess I was the only one crazy. I was crazy enough to think he was ever mine.
Amber Dec 2010
I met someone today
Someone I've known forever, yet never really known
she was a beautiful girl, yet she wrapped
       herself in a blanket of insecurity
She was a determined girl, yet dependant on
      everyone but herself
She was an affectionate girl, yet gave love to all but
       those who were derserving
She was an eloquent girl, yet she impressed
       for all the wrong reasons
I stood in the mirror, staring at her, staring at me
And all I thought was how very little I envied her
How self-concious and plain and naive she was
I looked at her and decided
We'd never meet again.
Valerie Amador Aug 2010
Seductive being.
You have captured my eyes.
Blown away by an angel.
Tricked by diguise.

I'm lead astray by this angel.
The way she courses with grace.
So I follow the shadow.
Fooled by the veil on her face.

I have commited a crime.
I have visualized this affair.
Acknowledging this moment.
This innocent state of mind.

I admitt that this diversion.
Has corrupted me inside.
Leaving me empty.
Leaving me alive.

I'm drawn by her beauty.
Harmonizing her rythm.
While she harmonizes with mine.
Concious of this unlawful act.
Acheiving the impossible.
Acheiving this lie.
No Copyright.
Koty Peter Aug 2012
Stumbling through this broken dream,
The colorblind artist finds a motif.
For once he wasn't wrong,
When he felt right.
He found more than a distraction from the black and white.

A lilly in the concrete,
To never expire.
I've got a brand new drug,
It's like I've never been higher.
A solitary blossom standing in the debris.
She's the only thing thats really perfect about me.

At this point I can't fall asleep.
It's never been the same,
Ever since you met me.
It's one a.m.
And I'm awake again.
When talking to you,
Sleep is such a waste of our time.
And whats worse,
Than wasting my time with you,
On this earth.
Of our time,
And whats worse?
Which is why we both decided to dive in head first.

A lilly in the concrete,
To never expire.
I've got a brand new drug,
It's like I've never been higher.
A solitary blossom standing in the debris.
She's the only thing thats really perfect about me.

He dropped to one knee,
like he'd done before.
The roots were unearthed,
As he pulled on the flower.
The lilly found a home,
In the palm of his hand,
And the colorblind artist saw beauty again.

It's not the thoughts in the car,
Toward the masquerade.
It's the girl at the concert,
Rubbing elbows with me.
It's not our self concious,
It's not my flaws.
It's how together we can tear all of the negatives down.
of our time.
And whats worse,
Than wasting my time with you,
On this earth.
Of our time,
And whats worse?
Which is why we both decided to dive in head first.

A lilly in the concrete,
To never expire.
I've got a brand new drug,
It's like I've never been higher.
A solitary blossom standing in the debris.
She's the only thing thats really perfect about me.
Tori Parham Feb 2010
At times I feel my face become
a testament to how the universe feels bloated.
She feels the excess of her flesh,
and the weight of the world
throwing off her body mass index,
and she is self-concious.

There was a time before I was anything-concious,
But now I feel consumed with
this lack of substance.
Now I can
feel this moment's starvation and
I wish to feed my people so i sacrifice my ecstasy
and split it like bread and fish.

So I'll drink wine till i become a greek god
and then I'll strike down mortals
with my obscenities,
My mythological ****** patterns
born from the
hallways full of youthful blindness
and its filthy language strewn across the floor

Like the dignity of that bulimic
***** who slept in my bed.
Her face was a testament of
how frantically the Cosmos will one day
purge her absurd meal:
wads of suffering and
dripping with grease and vinegar,
entitled Mankind.

And I will be there,
giving life
to whatever she can hold down.
Ako Jun 2017
Firm hands
Visage, chiselled by gods
I pray upon the temple
Intertwined fingers
Sinful embrace
I have longed a touch for Mars
So far, yet he saw the wood,
The hill,
The Temple.

The Mars enraged!
Raging howl of a lone canine
Digging of what the burried desire has for him
Digging, digging
The Lumberjack fervently saws the hills
O God! Visage with a burning desire!
Not a tune of emotion compares to what this broken vision has seen
Not a tune of reality passes him.

Unconcious by the dew,
Concious by the sun
Ending the sin of a forbidden bind.
Jamie Lee Mar 2014
Low clouds are scattered, amongst the mountain tops.
The patches of grey, drifting swiftly through the valley.
As the sky sweats lightly, the day carries on.

Through the clear panes of glass, there is everything.
Untold stories await, to be found on hidden paths.
The secret to her life, remains undiscovered.

Pondering, her thoughts fill the emptiness in the room.
Comforted by the space, although it is her mental cage.
Absently peering out, as sweat becomes tears.

All that exists, now blurred beneath the cold weight.
Confined within her anxiety, she has finally resigned.
The facts of time untouched, as it passes slowly.

The uncompromising stress, forces through barriers.
A voice in all, that manipulates her feelings.
Time continues to pass, while nothing happens.

Too many opportunities wasted, in a quick beat.
This heavy toll, feeds from the constant brooding.
Actions must be taken, for control of her life.
Sub Rosa Sep 2013
Leave your concious mind
into vivid dreams
fall into the sheets
to watch stars capsize
beneath a distant horizon.
Cling to their brilliance
swing from their beams above the fields
call farewell to the
who shoved you too far
Whisper into the vacant spaces
words of reassurance
tell yourself
'it's okay to follow the light'
an escape
beyond the reaches of your lifetime
into the heavy darkness.
let the stars lead you
so readily
So forlorn
is the echo
of your final goodbye.
drumhound Oct 2013
(regarding the death of my son)

I fear very little
but the one thing I DO fear
is forgetting the sound of his voice.  

It was 70 year-old husky
by the age of 14.
The manifestation was a quartet bass
tucked neatly in the body
of a fray-headed sparrow.
If you closed your eyes
the lumberjack you imagined
would be tickled to see
the tiny powder keg
that actually stood before you.
Inside the resonance was a warm huckster laugh,
half good ole boy,
half saint,
half comforter.
He was fifty percent more real
than anyone I knew.
On the good days his chuckling possessed him
to the point of breathlessness.
His joy-tears are the Rembrandts of our memories
never to be tarnished by any pity demons.
But on the bad days his laughter trailed away
into a pugilistic cough.
It's the one thing I fear I will always remember.
Yet when he spoke the sincerity was so ominous
that any inaccuracies seemed irrelevant.
Love was the spine of his vocabulary.
There were no meaningless words.
Regardless of the lettering
they all had the root meaning
of clemency.
He spouted new beginnings
and hope
regardless of past mistakes of failures.  

I fear very little
but I fear I will forget the sound of his voice
for I fear that I have already forgotten my own.  

Today it speaks only of him being gone.
Reliquishing are the days
that were full of him.  
I submit to songs that were his
and find myself tethered to unmerited heaviness.
No matter how loud I scream
the present rains on me
and my voice is lost
in the sickness of the storm.
I cannot turn it off.
I press my radio presets
to chase away the Rascal Flatt residue in my head
and land on a Christian station.
**** it.
The only thing he loved more than Rascal Flatts
was Jesus.
Me too. But not today.
I just want to stop crying.  

It's the magician's multi-colored scarves
tied corner to corner
in a endless tug of futility and frustration.
The more I want the prank to stop
the more irritating the infinite parade of colors becomes.
I pull again and again hoping the next scarf,
the next involuntary sorrow,
will be the last one.
I open my mouth in concious agenda
to change directions
and speak of the blessings I have
in my other children
only to find his name tied to the last name
which was his as well
just in another color.
I cannot stop speaking of him
no matter how hard I try.
And I wonder if my kids know
that I know
they're suffering in his shadow
and I can't fix it.  

I fear very little
but I fear I will forget the sound of his voice
as I am forgetting mine
and terrified that I may be muting theirs as well.
Arataikii May 2015
That voice that commits each lie to truth.
Trapped in the circle of "am I awful?"

"I am awful."
drumhound Jun 2014
A newborn father
wears a path to heaven
in polished holy marble
'neath the pedestal
of stoney saints.
Deific overseers
cast artificial glory
A slice of dimly lit
hospital heaven
is framed with two candles
and the incense of Betadine.
Saint John's shadow
shares confessions
and supplications
over a once-immortal man
now unashamedly broken,
bartering trade with God -
his life for his son's.

This shoebox chapel
is starking cold.
Cold enough to preserve meat,
and doubts
which mock peace
against nun-hardened walls
echoing Satan's laugh.
Hope drowns in the ripples
of a basin filled with water
to wash our sins
but not our fear.

In the air hangs
the promise of eternity
(which is spiritual code for "death", but no one says "death" outloud. The more they don't say it, the more it sounds like "WE AREN'T GOING TO SAY "DEATH", WE CAN'T POSSIBLY SAY "DEATH", UNTIL IT IS SO UNCOMFORTABLE THAT WE MIGHT AS WELL BE SAYING "DEATH, DEAD, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DEATH AND TO TOP IT OFF...ON YOUR MOTHER'S GRAVE").
Yet piercing through
the promise of eternity
is the frail wail
of his baby's voice.

Legacy lingers in a
plastic manger down the hall.
Resurrection is more
than a prayer, it is his spirit
rising for one more miracle.
Faith is summoned
like a woozy fighter
demanding his will
to go on,
on the mat
refusing to lay down
for the count.
"God, I believe.
Help my unbelief."

The weeping man
stares into a statue's eyes
for salvation.
St. John blinked first. I won. AR Roberson lives.
Chaotic Melodic Aug 2010
This is for those of you that are hopelessly addicted to deeper meanings...
Where you examine the steps you take in the day under a microscope to see
the cracks scrambling restlessly up your legs to find your weak spot.
Your **** of aroused curiosity can only be stimulated via
lightning struck snowy powders dripping gently down your throat and tickling your brain-stem
until you laugh at the crows poking their heads in your back pockets.
They burn holes in your suicidal tendencies like kids playing with matches
for the first time behind the shed.
When your **** gets hard from the fire burning too close to your retinas and
enflaming the world as you knew it, charred and raining ash on the dead roses
that you planted and forgot to water.
**** them, these pilgrims of anxiety crawling across your arms like
stranded orphans in the desert, where the nearest well is spiked with adrenaline aged in
a dying cactus.
Wow you are dark tonight..
As if the dandelion seeds you set free flew back and tried to choke you.
Where are the heart tickling epiphanies now?
Sitting out on break and blowing cigarette smoke into nearby passing baby strollers?
I am not expecting you to like this.
I am just a deluded witch doctor dissecting your brains and attempting to pry out the tumors.
Like an excommunicated jedi knight using his mind to strike flint together.
The sparks smile and dance like college kids on ecstasy, not quite realizing that they are drowning in the undertoe.
They revel in the nostalgic numbness.
Only an IV of sweet lime juice can sustain such wilted leeches.
When lacking in vitamins, your skin is a papyrus to bury under the nile, and
watch from the hills as kids of 2100 and later search for WiFi to connect their burnt out forebrains to.
Coughing up several old moth eaten sweaters that you stuffed away
when your new girlfriend came over.
We hide our pasts like kilos under the coca cola shipments, and no matter
how far you ride the rails, the rats still nest and chew apart the cables that
keep the whole train locked together.
And why is it that we secrete our secrets in our sweat, and cover it up with
cheap deodorants?
Our catch-phrases mask the stagnant breath of our restless nature.
Humans, the bugs in our systems trying so hard to shout out to us that we don't really exist.
Thoughts as fragile as smoke could never support our weight if we chose to
colonize the moon and dig for diamonds in her eyes.
We may find that our stain-glassed windows keep out most of the light, while
preaching to keep our eyes closed and heads held close to the ground.
The civilized dances we partake are only nervous ticks of robotic
drones drilled on overtime.
And we think that these words useless, like grains of sand to let trickle out of your hands.
Our words mean nothing!
Even though you might have felt something in the last five minutes as these
black scarabs have peeled away at your comprehension.
You paint pictures with only black and blue and expect
fresh tongues to offer you green and purple instead.
But how can you expect anything other than the bruises you beat into the walls.
Like magnets on strike, you expect the world to just "let it go."
But I'm not about to rely on that weaker force to guide us.
The paths of unprecedented unraveling is where we are heading.
Where gravity is so pre-"concious-cocreation" and the last street light alive
will keep on whispering its salty sentiment.
You and I are not so different, although we profess to keep our distance
and fear too long of eye contact, as if a moment of silent connection
triggers the virus warnings and ***** up your downloads.
All I wanted was a light-hearted comedy and all you had stocked up in your
dvd cabinet was a bunch of black and white ***** films.
You said the dark side makes you appreciate the light, but every night i hear
those last beaten breaths, limping across the dark hallway with their fingertips sliding
quietly along the walls.
© 2010 Cory McQueen
Gabriel Bonney Sep 2018
I use to let the eyes in the dark
Creep in my concious and part my heart
I would feed the stomach in my brain
Feasting on the thought that I'm insane
I'd lock myself in another room
As I would enter a state of gloom
I would write to rid a mind of wrong
Turns out the eyes would read along
I will avoid those eyes,
turn on a light,
and unlock the door.

The more I put my trust in writing rather than letting God take care of my emotions, the more I lose hope. So this poem is to say that I'm going to work on giving everything over to God before writing it, because that will help
Kaye B Anderson Apr 2014
Could it have been the self concious views?
The lack of choice- No room to choose?

Could it have been the need for emotion?
The outbursts? The commotion?
Were the cogs rusting? A lack of motion

The cogs of time rusting...
Time not moving with the speed of light?
Could it have been that one was moving faster, then other-
Timing not right?

Like a Cheetah and a Deer holdings hands,
Could it have been tempting chance?
The chance to be amazed at the beauty of this picture,
Then not be surprised with the outcome- An act of nature.

Mesmerized with lies that are there to charm.
Cheating fate, Causing harm.

Could it have been...
That you left me because I was no more an object of your desire?
Or- Could it had been that all along,
I was *playing with fire?
Taylor Smith Apr 2013
How ridiculous is it that even sugar substitutes scream your name?
Understandable with the veins of a diabetic, though.
You're one bad habit too sweet to shake, and you put me in shock with that rare, flashing smile.
I ripped open a packet and studied those white crystals as I'd once studied you.
I failed to consider your authenticity before pouring.
Freely you fell, and loosely, you dissolved.
I stirred you in, and wanted more.
Suddenly sour, my drink was unbearable.
You ripped my heart in two in the same way I tore that paper.
This divided heart of mine is now a pool swimming with your artificial ingredients.
But honestly, how concious is anyone measuring your flavor?
My god, life's so bland without you.
Suja Gunasegaran May 2017
Dougie Simps Aug 2013
Metaphoric gun shots
As the writer ***** and locks
His pen
His target market...tarnished women and selfish men
The act of his ways are not violent, nor resent
He just kept it all in until his mind finally was spent
So here's a penny for his thought, while his concious develops a morse
Of an idea that spilt his wig, like his hair line and scalp had a divorce
Sceptive of his motives, you don't think he sees clear
You don't think he has the ability to drink his emotions and still steer
You don't know his capabilities that's why you still doubt his abilities
"A monster can't be tamed"
I've seen the transition: hostility to tranquility!
Stop with stupidity,
your brain could be a powerhouse
But water has to touch the seed before you can grow and let a flower sprout
Life is all steps, taking the elevator is a huge regret
You choose your own path with steps
You could be stuck in a elevator in which your height you must except

My words aren't in the past tense
I'm speaking more yet saying less?
Becoming a pro---while searching high and low
seems you always look for the gress. Growth is infinite, you never stop becoming your best!*

Now pay attention folks, that last line meant somthin, the kids on his way back..back like I LEFT SOMETHING!(echo out)

_Im Back #GCK
Lost all my writing...sad but not cause I'm back! Better than ever and the music dream WILL NOT STOP!
Erin-Taylor Apr 2013
Is this how it feels?
To feel empty and hollow inside,
Not caring about anything?
To want to cry every second of the day?
I feel fat.
I am self-concious and depressed.
I just wish I knew how to help myself.
This is a hurt that can only be supressed by icecream.
Ben & Jerry's come save me.
Josh Petroni Jan 2012
I am going back to Johanna,
shrill vision on the misty stream of my hearts eye.
For my cabins dim worlds falls to the ashes of autumn
in encircling shadows of the unforgiving eclipse
And Johanna she sits on cliffs
over mystic seas of green poetry.
The ocean, the velvet depth
where my dreams look to distorted shapes of the surface
and met with wonder the fiery twin eyes of Johanna.
     And there is some restlessness in the wind tonight.
A calling from the wise distant dessert to my babylonian streets.
The leaves are alive with songs of sands
preaching with choirs of the night
to mirror me the image of my pale surrounding.
And I am going back to my homeland
where I never once set foot.
To the northern lights birthed from the souls of starry eyed painters.
To Johanna, the taker of wandering souls.
The vision reflected deep in the pools of a jaded concious
a kingdom behind pearly gates of promised bliss.
I know the final hope of the unborn romanticized souls
lies within Johanna
jad Feb 2013
You are my darling,
You are my sweetheart.
You're my love and your father's just jealous.
I can swoon and I can flatter you.
You're the reason the moon hides behind shadows,
Cause it sees you and gets self-concious about it's figure.
When you summit those mountains, you're the reason those fish swim upstream.
You pick those strings better than your brother picks his nose,
And boy does he do it well.
Rug makers idolize you because of how you weave those words.
The ebbing of the ocean is in constant competition with how you swim the tides.
And with all of your multitalented-genius
I wouldn't be surprised if you could calculate the coordinates of the sun while sprinting a marathon But I know you'd just find that
You are sunshine.
Watch out for those boys, chica, cause the line for you is longer than Gamestop's.
If you never understand how well you recited your ABC's that 1st day of elementary school,
I just hope you know...
You make the bees jealous, honey.
phil roberts Jul 2015
Misty words billow in the cold
Pluming from their mouths
Quiet swearing and first smoke coughing
They walk close to hedgerows
Kicking the dew from the grass
As birds squabble over breakfast
And mushrooms are still socialising
They whistle the dogs to heel
All panting and wagging tails
Stirring the dawn damp air
For happy is the early dog
In these sumptuous fields

Now the business of dawn begins
Low sharp commands are uttered
Bringing the younger bounding learners
To a proper sense of purpose
And that high-toned cross breed
The sleek and swift lurcher
Is eternally proud and primed
This long-sprint racer
Takes inevitable chase
Without sentiment or concious cruelty
An ancient craft is practised here
With the dogs at dawn

                                By Phil Roberts
glass can Jul 2013
spiky hair that I clutch too hard when I'm drunk
and you write twee that makes my heart both sad and leap

with the joy of a pied piper

and you

and you
and you
and you have a cute smile, shy, teeth

"I was in a band for two weeks in college. I wanted to get ******."

and you play the only song you wrote in college for me
nd. you wrote a song
for a girl you met on the internet
and I closed my eyes when you played so you wouldn't get self-concious

and you play Bright Eyes

and I like you
and you like me.
too drunk
Catrina Sparrow Dec 2012
wearing your brand-loyalty like a politcal campaign t-shirt
you almost seem proud to be so very confused
walking to the beat of the same **** pop-song that every ******* radio station's been blaring for months
designer cup of sludge in hand

and the billboards tell you that you might be pretty
some day
if you drop thirty-five pounds and buy an over priced bottle of this seasons heavily-scented false sense of "belonging"

that outghtta do it


fake it

cash in your mail-in rebates for another hunk of junk with a heavy price tag
determined solely by how badly sad saps like you
will want what the magazines say that others have

how sad

you lost sight of yourself years ago
somewhere in the housewares section of the Elmhurst Target

you drifted off near the alarm clocks
whilst day-dreaming about wall-paper schemes
and zebra wood cupboards
and an apron that would match your sunday dress

you got it mixed up

worth isn't measured by cost
beauty isn't measured in inches
and wealth most certainly isn't measurd by a bank statement

but scoff
and laugh me off
like i'm some kind of eccentric fool
rendered maladjusted after years
of steady

leave me to squelch in the riches
of my own cosmic existence
and proud as a king

leave me to find the mountain's top
and ocean's floor
and black-top's end

leave it me
to be me

i'll go ahead and leave it to you
to be them
"Time is valuable, life is priceless, love is confusing, and thought is immortal. Immortality is a thought, but with that thought love of existance is no longer priceless; for valued moments cannot be continual!"

- At the drop of a dime the situation turns critical. Everythings dark with no signs of light. Unknown noises come from unknown sights, mind boggling predicaments flipped by the switch of a light. What was once unknown is now known by only the eyes of the beholders unconcious mind! Never concious! Never seen by the naked eye! Locations thought to be real, are now realized; just ones fantasies.

Who's to say fantasies are not real, as trips through the mind are as unreal as reality alone; Right? Repetitive solemn thoughts are mistakes condoned from wrong Nor right answers untold!

Ones' mind such as my own cannot register such terrorism on ones' soul. Horrid thoughts opposite of such random sights - no answer in my sorrowed tone of visions sought in my fantasies.

As I span for up front answers in what I now can see I cannot decifer the truths from lies. But at the same instant i cannot decide if what slips through my own teeth is rightous and worthy of praise or dishonor. . .

Once I spoke of great realistic prophacies. Future referances is all to be spoken  - for present slips to fast to past - and no time is taken to elaborate on such vast plans for present moments.

I blink in hopes of focus on what i could not identify seconds earlier! Come to realize I am still in what I thought was my safe zone . . .

Obviously it was at my acknowledgement of error to induce my mind to such unrealistic nonsense. Scattered information non-applicable of re-alligning to make since to anyone! But my self i seem to understand all information only scattered never alligned.

Confusion all around, sleep i think? Could that straighten such a collage of random blubber?

        LETS TRY!!

Later on by a day and a half reality hits; like a parking brake in mid action of a donut! Snowy, icy, sketchy situations to awake to . . . After coming to a complete stop, i speak: First time in what seemed to be many days. . .

  "J.J. where are we? How did I get in your car? Man my head hurts! What the ****?!"

Replied to me, "Dude you were TRIPPIN man, never again am I going to feed you booms hommii!"

"I concure man, I concure!"

Lasting adventures, crazy spins! we go in circles over and over again . . . Out of gas, we walk in turn . . . To a warm destination.

- Decided to my place.

— The End —