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O, why but I am like t'is! Hath I, since t'at last sober night,
as th' wan, dull clouds crept nearby, been bequeathing
tragic, credulous insecurity to myself. Like t'at frail moonbeam
disturbed by starless rain! And a turbulent voyage
didst I take, alongst my dreary sleep, into th' grounds
of scythed lands-full of horror, nightmarish leaps,
and dire-some terrors. Why didst I do so! I hath come, to comprehend
not, why t'is turbulence of brave grossness seemeth like nothing else
but perniciously irredeemable, as though I accidentally, or even
consecutively-inflicted it, without the wakeful knowingst
of my brains. Indecipherable! T'is vacant delirium of mockery, and its abysmal hearth
inside-set alight by invisible flames-torches of hell, and gruesome
shrugs of untimely malevolence. Insatiable deployment, indeed! How
miraculous it would be, should I be free from t'is inconvenience
in th' course of some upcoming days, but still, doth I hope so!
Waggish remarks, jests, and playful turns of ancient riddling-
areth but exchanged outside, with airs so snobbish, from t'ose
pampered youngeth dames, blind to t'eir silenced world's grievous
suffering, and laborous perspiration. How unfair t'eir fiendish hearts areth-
once and againeth-sneering at th' pure, stoical beds of t'ose airy rivers,
andth t'eir dim solitude, with t'ose rings of presumptuous laughter!
Spaciousness in its holy sphere, untouched by th' turmoil t'at lingers on it
surface, neither driven away nor shaken by ungratefulness. Toil
improperly apprehended! And insulted as it might become, tenderness
shalt it leave behind, insolence but be crafted along th' insidious rims
of its face. Marvelous in wild ways! Wild, devilish ways! And unwatched
by th' stomping blokes on its visage, shalt it rise, rise like an unforgiving
tidal wave, soulless in its aliveness, blighting and scratching
t'eir shoulders, with blades unmarred-dormant powers t'at ought not
to be ignored by seconds t'at feebly tick away. And t'eir ends
shalt 'ey meet, granted liberally by t'eir
deliberate neglect, and repulsive indulgence.

In th' nothingness of aggravation I am but naturally not a hard-hearted creature,
too of a stony appearance I possess not-intimate and even, t'at should be how
my being is paraphrased mercifully! With t'ose perpetual-and even limitless-
replenishing jewels of ardour, flawed only by harmless faults, I would consider myself treasured
by nature, o t'at precious creature whom hath so adorably vouchsafed t'is
spring-like life to me; warmth can I gratefully feel in t'is winter every day,
in my prayers, studies, and amongst t'ose invigorating fits
of my daily perambulations. How truthful, aye t'is confession is made! As I am
but a pious, sanctified child, ye' in spite of being a humaneth as I am, a snake is bound
to dwell within my *****, asleep in its quiet slumbers, unawakened so long
as I unbetray my redolent virtues.
But last night! How nigh my soul from t'at anxious burst of agitation,
melancholiness so undesired but abruptly avenged my silence. My indulgent
silence! Th' one frame of my unresting mind t'at I so fastidiously preserved!
Hatred encountered my countenance, and bifurcated my ******
dispositions; flew into anger then I-so sudden as gripped my soul was
by paths of hostility sent onto me-overwhelmed by t'is ineloquent treatment,
howled in despair, and agony was all I felt within my cheerless heart-
until everything amounted into a blurry shadow-insignificant as it was,
but th' fraud was still t'ere-stupefying desire, so ardent within th' leaves
of my conscience, to slaughter even th' most innocent skins-
'till no more breath t'ey shalt but gasp for. And triumph shalt I procure,
ascendancy shalt be painted onto my palms, and opulent pride shalt I be
endowed with, so unlike all t'is hateful remorse, and slithering chastisement!
Amongst t'ose seas of disillusionment; whilst frowning in desperation-combusting
all t'ose wretched spirits wert all I wasth but able to think of;
and all I conjectured wert proven worthy of my thoughts. Inevitable! Entrenched
was its root-t'is flourishing tiny devil on my inner self, as it is-'till th' morning but
retreated and vanquished t'is gust of little hell, which had decoyed me
and my lithe genuineness like a trivial shell.

O dear! My flawless prince, hath thou but thoroughly gone from me?
Still, a painting of thy kiss roam silently th' rooms of my heart. Now scanty
as to emptiness, roaring fussily as to loneliness, for thy being unhere!
Distorted hath been now its breaths-adored only by groans
of misery-like caprices t'at laid unwanted, abhorred by t'eir masters-
for t'eir yesterday's pricelessness, and valuable crowns! How ungrateful masters,
my dear! And how t'eir proceedings shalt recall
t'ose pristine shines, yes, my dear, (of my golden gems) t'at areth gone,
with unsounding returns t'at are unexplainable, and too unattainable-
and shalt remain dim be t'eir whereabouts, amongst t'ese winds
of fervent, but sultry days. O, come back, my love, come back to my arms,
and hate me not, for my threads are woven alongst thy charms-
ah, t'ose threads of life, of soulfulness, and unabashed mortality!
Clashes of feelings, emotions, and mutual usurpation
of endless infatuation. Chaste, and unimpure, passion! Yes, yes, my love-
t'at's how we ou't 'a be, next to t' fireside, lulling each ot'er to sleep,
and welcoming t'ose night dreams with hearts so dear, lullabies
so near to our ears, of t'at unwavering breaths of passion, and unchangeable
affection, for th' rest of our lives! Leave me not-once more, but stay hereth
with me, and make me forgive
and forget cheerethfully t'is seditious, thoughtless, but most of all
irresolute conflagration.
Pax Jun 2015
The day I stop dreaming
     is when I started my progress…

I never really understood to why, oh why
do we have to start a living?

In the city of progress, I became the mindless puppet
Of what we call ‘the clichés of society’
FOR NOW - I’m totally blind in all five senses
    to where my love should be place in…

From a specific today, I am robbed for my silence
Totally alone never wanted nor even needed
Conceivably A misplaced person in a ‘crazy world’
- or it is just me who thinks this way.

Sometimes I would think no one would ever really captured
                          - ‘the essence of my heart’
Or probably it was just me, who never did take noticed.
Guessing I am too
  - Perverse to feel anything within the walls of my five senses.

Despite everything else, I understood how Society lives by.
The imaginable ways it burdens and pleasure in
–> Giving –> Receiving –> Showing –> US
                                                         how life works with their walls.

I could never blame how our world becomes a harsh place,
Yet I could took the blame on US
   or our humanity is too faulty consecutively.
Too many Securities from any Insecurities.
Walls upon Wall of their Owning Glory,
      Almost nothing is free.

So I stand chained from cultural responsibilities,
for we were made to think this way.

Ashamed of what I discovered
So I hide in the covers of my pen
To write, just write,
A Written voice for the fallen..

A friend told me “I think life ends when a man stops from breathing and also when he stops from dreaming. What will keep us moving if we no longer have holds to aspirations, to hope...”

Then my friend, Kalypso answered a big part of it in her review on what I am talking about in this piece, she said: “being a dreamer for so long, having to pull my head and heart out of the clouds and start the mundane process every day, over and over again, would bring me into this realm of thinking. Wondering why we do ...what we do? What is the purpose of working just to pay bills and survive, but barely live? Feeling like I disappeared in the process of becoming an adult and taking on responsibilities. Having no time to explore the world. To ponder the mysteries of life...or capture the beauty of everything around us. How the monotony takes away your creativity and individualism, blends you into society, almost making you invisible.”

Then Rachelle’s questions arise saying: “Do we grumble? Do fall into a deeper pit of despair or do we try to figure out how to transform our reality such that the world is exciting and challenging again?”

With all those thoughts arises from my poem, I came to understand that despite I stop dreaming big, I still hold on to the little hope and a hint faith I have on myself that someday, in some way a dream could rise again from the burned pages of my bucket list.

I am thankful that I have find/found friends in my writings.
So I appreciate everyone who reads me, greatly....
H Oct 2013
Ok so the new mac software has a dictation program. I let it run during an animal physiology lecture, it was so funny I sort of turned it into poetry with a few modifications. (I took out words that it actually got right and were super science-y like T cells and also words like LRP that aren’t things and I only then changed punctuation and physical layout)

Let me know if you can find some meaning or humour in these found poems.

Steve bring it by

the new proteins bars


without some for you

and your music

and also had pasta

see you

so he hears that

you first

use a euro or so

and phone

by a little while

see what is CCR

Heintz hearts tires

in this to the signal


was so many years over many years.

He uses Stevens now

she is seeing proteins

and we don’t mayor

this is something for me and Olivia

So honestly it was something going on inside

and so is he is always something

when you see

here is the Winterlochen

7 mm,

one of the major cities,


search process

which look, it recognizes us

and what is the function ?

start by punching

in short call with the show

in law class this is a law

bread, espressos



using my own postulations

to hear that fossil

fossil tires, the possibilities…

and here is a hot spot

deep blue sea

response was you

can see you later

mostly out you are


parsing parties

and seems that all times

so we burgesses to see

whether these fees

so we are you

so busy

with the police officer

so this is the name

off for you Lisa

so is this needed ?

to serve on, since it’s always interesting

and if there is no proof

what is the man ?

Dennis, is the report from 17%?

raise my house and Sivula .

the left sense is the other

10% to leave myself

seven you get his sister.

Or from prefrontal cortex

you were able to listen

else and if we

so this show

on specific salsa

and effective T cell receptor activation

to decrease the settings

so sure so you transfected

as we buy one

a little simple

were able to game

is at seven

and we have two songs

this nonsense

if we were in Gennessee

tires times

who are noticed

that it is the same as control

were able to rescue the response

so by cars seem to be

a long *** tease you


remember to Silversun

So we don’t

House and it’s just something so this shows

That Hughes

that Tersini

seems to be downstream

cheated is this

please rewrite Oterson

times we’ve started

for further brothers

specifically incontinence

ball, doesn’t you know the rest ?

of all conferences

and finish eyes gazing

into Cancun East

it’s consecutively

it doesn’t Vermarle

any if you have time

is there any messages


I was in response

to slight chance

you can also

it’s seven

and consider

you get a little more pronounced

decrease in Austin

so we see here

just curious

to be through soon

does it sound ?

and whether holiday,

actually awesome?

this medicine!

maybe you

got our road shows

to snooze constantly

is your sisters control as low ?



“ hi you can see some more”



there’s greater

when an awesome

when you
It would take too much time
to spit out a rhyme, that exhales
the too many complicated details
of how I became a criminal.
If someone out there tried
to define the lines of limitation
that create stone cold walls
beholding all that is right and wrong
I would laugh in their face

There is no right time or place, for anything
despite all that grandma told me she can
Remind me that fried fish is fried in oil saturated with fat
as if my jiggling thighs didn't already know that

But I'll try to smile, despite the war I struggle to, need to fight
against the earthquake in my stomache but it's just begun to have it's fun

I feel disgusting.
I am ashamed.
I'm not aware of the rules to this game but everybody else seems halfway across the board

There was no one incident catapulting me to hell, I just think I was born there
And if you don't believe me there will be a yell, or screech to teach the meek and weak
who seek some form of hope, some drip or some leak
I will yell at you, when whispers drown the drums in your ears I will reveal the fears you've been trying to conceal for years and I will bring out your ******* tears

Why? why would I ever want to make you cry?
I don't, I just don't want to see you make the same mistakes I did
said every mother father aunt uncle sister brother family member ever

Where am I going with this?
These are not the consecutively places lines
I have been assigned for the poetry class I sit in at nine
These are lines on paper portraying, redundantly saying why I sometimes wish I would die.

One of those times the mirror in the bathroom was not silent or flat it screamed,
as if I didn't already know that

One of those times occured directly after one of those times
and I will never have enough security cameras
and I will never have enough freedom

Because in this universe, we teach the entire history of how jesus came to be
but shun faith in the stars or the wisdom of mythology
Because in this universe, healthy food is instantly corrupted and corrupted healthy food will get in your head-wait, no. Society cannot simply manipulate my brain
Because in this universe, I was already born insane
In this universe a sixteen year old girl can be sexually assaulted 3 times
and still be expected to feel protected
In this universe, a sixteen year old girl can feel older than dirt, tired and disintegrating
there's no SSRI that'll chemically clog this hurt

But my friends still stand beside me
They're solitary statues saluting my salvation
we live on our own planet of alienation and whenever
I can't find the rocket fuel to propel myself from my own pit of despair
they know not to say much, they know the importance of just being there

There will be no one supporting me my entire life
I'm my own husband, lover, my wife
I am the criminal being charged with crime
I am the mouse in the clock moving the hands of time
with that time, lessons yearn to be learned
In this life, we all just want to be heard
Nicholas Fogle Aug 2015
I play with fire
And I dance with Death
A twirl and a spin and a blade swings recklessly.

"Do you not care about others ", they ask consecutively.
"Do you think before you act", they ask disrespectfully.

My own reality an asylum
My mind makes liberal
My words can change you or me

"Your words are absent " , they'll disagree
"You make no sense", they'll only see

To much to handle like a crushing bridge
Bounds break like broken ribs
Without either things cease to exist
I walked upon a borderline path
I can't decipher , am I  a Psychopath
Mitch Nihilist Oct 2015
Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
intrigued, I slam the door
                               and avoid a kiss
                                   from Judas

The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door

                                               and avoid

Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,

Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,  
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain

Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society  
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.
It has been a while since I have posted anything. You can call it sudden shyness, or a complete loss of confidence but I found a partially unrevised and unedited version of this poem. I have been dwindling the inability to finish the piece for a while now, and I finally built up the confidence to do so. This was written quite a while ago when I was at a low of whatever you would call my then current state of mind. Most would read with with some sort of immediate judgement, but look deeper and find the meaning the of subliminal annotations written. Inferring is a complex component when comprehending the internalized aspects of someones mind who is unable to convey said aspects with words.
Luna Moon Nov 2015
That was the night I took eighty pills-
The next morning I was late for college, and missed the train.
There was a lump in my throat from where the pills still seemed to be.
My stomach was full of pills, so I had black coffee for breakfast.
I looked at the train tracks and sought it would have been less painful to be lying there than sitting with these pills in me.

That was the day there was a solar eclipse,
and I couldn't care less.
But nor could anyone else,
about the way I felt.
Or didn't at all.

That day I sat in class and the boy I pretended to have a crush on,
heightened my anxiety.
I left the room and my teacher never did the task she had set again,
She thought it triggered my anxiety.
The boy didn't notice when I left.

That was the day my mum drove me home, an hour from college,
and I slept in the car.
It was the day my new job rang me about my first shift.

I spent the day on the sofa, thinking:
About the boy in my class;
the pills in my stomach;
If he would find out I was drawn to him;
and if anyone would find out about the pills.

A week later my friend found out, and told me to go to the hospital.
But I didn't.
The boy never found out,
because I never said a word,
and never felt a thing.
it's odd
when you've been best friends with someone consecutively for the past three years
or so
and then someone else
to whom which you'd never thought you'd expect
starts making their way up in the "ranks"
not saying that I "rank" my friends
I'm not that much of a ****
but saying that
there's someone
who for some reason continues to take time
out of their precious day
just to make you smile.
and oddly enough it doesn't feel intrusive whatsoever
but it just feels
i don't know.
maybe I'm too soft.
or maybe I'm finally recognizing what I need.
Allison Charde Nov 2013
our first kiss was 3 days before we first got our periods together
and one day before you got a new haircut
and a month before your mom's birthday

the next time we got our periods, i was swimming through my sleepover bag, fishing for tampons
the next time you got a haircut, you got a dog the same day that still remembers my voice
and the next time your mom's birthday rolled around, i had a drawer, a toothbrush, and a seemingly permanent spot in your bed

things seemed to happen consecutively
that reminded us of time, and called for our love to consider itself.
i still loved you
at every checkpoint.
2 drops of tear

Travel down her side eye

Flowing consecutively on a loop

Yet falling into oblivion

Breaking free from her once ethereal sockets

As the icy sideline waves ravage her mind

Consuming every evidence of hope she once embodied

Trapped she is beneath layers of ice

Ice so thick to break through

Yet clear enough so you know she is there.

2 drops of tear

(O once upon a time they were)

Fall not from his side eye

Deposit instead in the reservoir of him

Quietly wearing away the gypsum norms on which he stands

Like the Mosul Dam o he knows

Still his paintbrush daily he holds

Laminating his façade in fifty shades of hegemony blue.

Yung Wifey Jan 2016
when you left me
I felt lost
I drove myself crazy
I called you 27 times consecutively knowing that each time you were going to send me to voicemail
I had to move on by myself
with no closure at all
It hurt every single day
there was not a night that would go by that I wouldn't think about you and just cry
for a very long time, it was that way
then I finally found a light
I wasn't sad anymore
at least not over you

but now you're back
saying sorry
"sorry I made you fall with no intention of catching you.."
but what am I suppose to say?
It's okay?
Because it is not okay
you made me sad for a very long time

I did think about you from time to time
but those days are over
now it's your turn

It's your turn to cry
Lalin Jan 2015
he is five in one
she is consecutively
one two three

to fit perfectly
in his one  
composing time

one divides to
all the replaceable and irreplaceable
limit approaches to infinity
parabolic ends stretch
at both ends
of all planes
at all frequencies

these two
shall not see
or hear
which of which
they themselves

their love making
the lance of
the invincible shape

bends the universe
to embody
the immutable verse
the supreme sound

none is
the undefined bearer
of the material
of love
of one

sacrifice themselves
for each other
within each other

a material of generations
to be activated by
a conscious flash

just a Joker!
from a hum
the cycle of time.
I was listening to: Arvo Pärt- Spiegel im Spiegel
Foh Real Aug 2015
I’ve lost my dreams they are nowhere to be found
I get a glimpse of them, then I find myself back in reality
Reality lives on forever but I always find my mind in a moment when reality is non-existent

My dreams
Visible in my sights
But murky in my thoughts
My reality is amended by my feelings though it remains the same
My head is lost in the illusion of a dream-droughted reality
But my heart is full of joy in a dream enhanced by reality


A thumping again and again, continuously a beat repeats, reality then dreams, consecutively, the threads of my sane mind are only held by my crazy belief that my reality ceases as it gets a hold of my dreams
My thoughts are just broken mirrors reflecting reality and dreams
What I live through each day is an entanglement of my reality and dreams
Mitch Nihilist Sep 2016
I’ve manifested
an after midnight symphony,
looping mp3’s of my own eulogies
and consecutively callousing
and shaking hands with death,
the feeling brings a paradox of
finding warmth in cold palms
and it cuts between relation and
addiction to a palpable misery,
shot glasses of blood trying to make
home in my throat
drawing *****
and neglecting to force
warmth back inside,
left cold
and red hands ramble
abstract frigidness
on a livid mess mimicking
a sorry excuse for a heartbeat,
and all i’ve been doing is
touching myself
and each fingertip friction
formalizes an addiction to
a wintry contagious
Harmony Sapphire Mar 2016
"Sometimes your worst self is your best self
The moonlight divides the shadows.
The essence of a black rose.
Butterflies flutter by through the air.
Unaware they are there without a care.
I grab thee adorable like a snuggle bear.
Not to get a job in this city is unfair.
At the interview discrimination to my face they dare.
I do not run, I am not scared.
I reapply consecutively, insanity flares.
I am invisible, I am not there.
Nobody notices or even stares.

He calls me his baby.
He treats me like I'm a lady.
His intentions are never shady.

My eyes watch his aura.
His essence glows like a tiara.
His eyes sparkle like stars.
He drives a truck not a car.

Our attraction is mutual.
So sacred & constitutional.

Our desire is not yet full.
Our passion rages like a bull.
Our time together is never dull.

His lips touch mine.
That night for the first time.
© Harmony Sapphire.All rights reserved.
Liam C Calhoun Apr 2016
I’d always less than half a sense;
To my detriment, often doubling-down,
Ordering the same sorts of poison –
Warm beer, cold women, back alley-ed eyes
And other late night snacks simmered atop the oil
Salvaged the streets come previously devoured.
Bottled and poured, again and consecutively through me,
An anomaly now evolves average;
Cured only an alchemy wrought, "baijiu," (rice wine),
Crowd summed solitude’s paradox and hazy Chinese moons.

So when in Rome, do as the Romans do
And die as Romans die;
A slighter justification for what’d later trumpet –
Salivation’s sip, salvation’s second,
A tickle atop tongue, sour in stomach
And cancerous come the lesser years,
Deep, nether and beyond the once upon a time barren,
So I plead for seconds and corral but only
Three revelations in the expanses exhumed:

One – I want to die. Two – Tastes beat the years.
And three – The world’s a wonderful meal;
Home to another and common denominator,
The shared variable, viable and pliable,
Our simple ingestion, communal,
So that I may venture a path paved prior
And yet parallel something nearly precious – truly alive.
Either way, it’d satiated but one achy throb
And prevented me from washing the dishes;
A fair trade for someone who’d always assumed early ends.
It was all about escape, and since then, I've escaped there too.
Sophia Feb 2015
*******, *******, sleeping around.
Call it what you will, just not making love.
Most nights I fall asleep on someone's chest, however never the same consecutively.
Lying on ***** sheets next to someone who's name I dont know
And won't remember.
You see i was taught
That this is what happens
"When a man and woman love each other very much"
But thats just *******.
As I crawl through anothers bed my emotions shut off,
love never comes into play.
It never has.
As I surrender to pleasure not only mine but theirs.
It courses through my body and veins
Bringing life and feeling into the empty limbs.
Every finger, toe, and arm being brought alive if only for an hour or less.
Every kiss spreading warmth, every touch igniting my senses.
As soon as it begins its over.
The life i had within me falters, dripping from my fingertips and toes, falling from the ends of my hair.
As I lay in dark cold rooms where I spend my nights.
Sleep never crossing my mind.
Numbly staring at the walls feeling empty once again.
Everybody knows.
With all the pictures I send without a care in the world.
I fill the requests one by one, going down the list.
When I walk down the halls they stare and whisper.
Their words dont mean a **** thing.
And so I fall asleep in his bed.
I fall asleep in her bed.
Anywhere but my own.
I'm not scared
I'm never nervous
I never care.
Because as the clothes come off as the hands make contact with my flesh as the lips skim my body.
My emotions leave.
I can mechanically go down without a glitch or hesitation.
I can undress and redress quicker than your average.
I can move my hips and hands in that perfect way.
Im up for that.
I'm down for anything.
Call me, I'm your girl.
Sorry mom and dad, your little girl's a *****.

(still a draft)
Jared Eli Nov 2012
He wanted to become something, but he did not want that something to define him. He wanted to be a part of the picture, but not to be titled or signed. He wanted to belong, but he did not want his belonging to override the fact that it was in fact he, who had come to belong, not a nameless member of the group. He wanted to be found in a dictionary for those who sought him, but undefined like the ***** of a line. He wanted to be stationary and mobile consecutively. In short, he wanted the impossible, but then, didn't he just want something worthwhile? And isn't it true that nothing is impossible?
kellie anderson Apr 2017
in grade 8 i met a poet who told me that the cure to writers block was to consecutively write down all my thoughts in a time period of 3 minutes. so i've been doing that for the past couple months and somehow they always end up sounding like suicide notes. the way they always start with a story and end in "i'm sorry." wouldn't you have thought that i would have been happier by now?

i've been carving your name into my wrists with silver blades so it feels like you are still a part of me. i have no more tears left to cry so i guess it's time i start bleeding. i'm replacing my emptiness with pain and the exhilaration of death never made me feel so alive.

i have never been good at anything. i thought that maybe loving you could change that but i guess it seems i'm not much use for that either. all i know how to do is make you cry and make you ***. i have never been much good at anything else.
and i finally understand why no one has ever loved me in the ways i love them.
who would ever buy a shirt with stains or a mirror that is fragmented.
who would ever eat a meal half-cooked
or live in a house that has collapsed
and these all seem like such meaningless questions but what i'm trying to say is who could ever love a soul that is bruised.

so i understand.
i understand that everyone needs a valve. everyone needs a pump of oxygen into their lungs, a pump of air from mouth to mouth. everyone needs a life source.
you wanted me because i fit the job requirements but i guess you are starting to realize that you can't steal a heart beat from someone who is far past dead.
so i understand why you are leaving.
and the only words i can push out from my lips,
i'm sorry
My upstairs spiraled to her looking glass
in those hand-me-down shoes alight
and would incline on the way down to the street
so this diadem could never faint
yet had swallowed ancient rouses
why he didn't die in a field of clover
with a herd of deer then
as they both arrive just to expose this simplex  
that may fold their wonder many times
but her entirely backless suit met consecutively
with spring base was tapestry in a town of such nomad
as fillies were finally exonerated by his demeanor.
a native Philadelphian could be in a park like Fairmont
Deedz Apr 2017
I walk the fine line between love and hate
Consecutively losing balance and falling
Into the deep abyss of either one
Just to climb my way up and slip right into the other

Every landing just can't seem to arrive any sooner
Consistent with it's tasteless teasing
As if my mind has not sat through enough horrors
I reason with myself, that it probably really hasn't

My vocal chords have no more screams to release
Aware that they would just be consumed by the echoes
From the last time I was there
A shift in amplitude never changed a thing.

And still, I walk the fine line between love and hate
Despite the times my body slams onto the cold, hard ground
For it is the only path I have
To absolute indifference.
megan May 2018
years have passed
we have tried and failed
love and pain felt consecutively

arrogant and dismissive
self delusion throughout
two seperated puzzle pieces
Slur pee May 2016
In the night chains wrap themselves around me,
Slithering carefully into curves
Turning specific corners.
Constricting my movement.
Scared I'll try to leave
They bind themselves around
My heartstrings.
Tightening with each passing moon.
They hold me, but I think of you
Closing my eyes, forcing my mind
To trace every single line of your sweet, angelic face.
I could see you if I ever dreamed.
These pictures I draw are as close as I'll ever be
To having you with me,
I always try to reach out and touch them
But when I do your image turns blurry
And the ink runs down my visage.
I'm nothing more than human-shaped garbage
I feel like such a waste
Of time, energy, and space.
Your smile is my happy place
I wish to be a freckle on your
Perfect face.
But I'm chained, I don't think there's an escape
I've tried to flee, consecutively
For seven hundred and thirty days
It's hard to break free
When my legs are so weak
And the chains really believe that I'm theirs to keep
Rattling fiercely, as they beat me.

All I want is to run away so you could take their place and tightly hold me in a sweet embrace.

full moon Apr 2017
I'm scared and I'm seeing my heart scattered on the ground..
No one is pickling up the pieces
It was only being stumbled and consecutively being stepped on..
I'm broken and yet no one seems to care and fix me..
Anonymistress Dec 2019
Consecutively eating one meal a day,
despite the knowledge of the physical attributes that come with doing so.
The endless weekend black outs and bathroom floor surrenders.
The sleepless nights lurking for company.
The overwhelming guilt in attempts to start over again.
The three hour long anxiety attacks that cease to subside.
You realize you haven't taken care of yourself;
that numb became such an acceptable state of being.
Found this old gem from a darker time.
Revisiting these words.
Bohemian May 2019
When I was born
It is said that have jingled the most in father's lap in nights, swaddled
Only my mother could feed me the cerelac or else I'd spit
Then I was one ,two and three consecutively
At four,I remember my stubbornness for mother's cooked dishes to be as my tiffin
And scolding elders for not picking me up from school such that I had to return by the school bus
At five,I remember complaining for having being paid less attention to and  everything pivotal to my new born brother
At six,I remember feeling old and yet surging and crying to get back early to home from the school
At seven,I remember getting my brother's shoe laces tied by my class teacher's son on the parent's teacher meeting day
At eight,I remember my mother working hard to get me 97 straight A's
At nine,I remember being averted by the admired people and wondering if I could make through
At ten,I remember loving maths and my class teacher a casual lymph
At eleven,things were turned upside down I had to restart
At twelve,by the end of the territory I had already made the way from aversion to appreciation
At thirteen,I found my leader and my stories found a narrator in me ,I was applauded by the crowd for the first time
At fourteen, my distinction was appraised and embraced
That had my mother's pride inflate
At fifteen, I was embellished on the crowns and my lady rediscovered me
Amid it had happened a trauma that I had,initially, considered with hurray
At sixteen,things begin to slip but my faithful guardian held my back every now and then,my mother
At seventeen,she was behind me through thick and thins
At eighteen,she pulled me from shore to pinnacles ,from hither to thither and shown me a world to belong
At nineteen,here I am my mother's braced armor,a scabbard that she's prepared,alongside the several stories of my ultra smart brother who has taught me honesty at the bays.
Jade Lima Nov 2019
There is no amount of suffering any of you could endure, for dragging me through life while wanting nothing but the worst.
How long have you had senseless hate in your eyes?
My existence is petty slavery always leading to my demise.
If I could make you all rot and consecutively burn, for as long as you’ve all desecrated my life and any self worth.
I’d do it without hesitation for every hour, minute and second you’ve strung me along as your puppet like witness.
All I can see is petty lies stemming from hate.
But there was never any real reason until you all filled my eyes up with the very same hate.
Jade Lima Nov 2019
Did people lose the ability to use their brains?
It’s a petty web of lies with their ******* games.
They use logic to lie, and common sense to corrupt.
Wasn’t ruining my life already enough?
But no you have to **** me by any means you see fit.
I’ve had it with you people and all of this contorted *******.
But wait the problem is always me.
How many times are you going to use my soul and disorders for your power tripping greed?
So I guess the problem was always all of you.
You get no satisfaction and only murky hues.
Thanks for the 2 years I thought life was good.
But everything else was torment and now all you want is blood.
Well if I could **** you all to hell and make sure you consecutively rot and burn, for all this demented slavery all taking turns.
I’d torture you all to death and make sure you’d never live again.
Stop bringing me back just to **** me over, or is your ruining the quality of life a trend?
You all deserve the worst, hell wouldn’t even make a dent.
So why are you people so awful?
I guess it’s cause your like a cult.
I could never insult any of you enough, leave me out of your ******* and stop making everything my fault.
Cyclone Jan 9
What I have in my mind is telekinesis, power to move Messiah Jesus into my mind, and now he teaches while his word reaches, beyond the deepest, steepest where all the bleakest leeches here to the morning I was groaning from feeling all alone and, the foaming, got out of control you saw me roaming and stoning blew up the scene, it's like the wrong me was cloning consecutively, but see my art form was in the hearts dorm catch it in specks till it be where my mind limits it, no one's stealing it, the feeling is the exercising what your prizing, you must be inside where the compromising steady rising, cause then it feels good to get rid of the evils possessed, and then your like me where your life be committed to test the other strengths you have, outlook is now something you bet will only be the best, till the last breath where your sins are confessed.

— The End —