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Colm Apr 2017
Goodnight father
Goodnight sun
Goodnight detestability of day and enjoyment of all things costly and fun
Goodnight to you
And goodnight to me
Goodnight dear bed frame and thank you for this, your stability
Goodnight my pillow
Goodnight my bed
Goodnight and would you carry me, over the moon and back again?
Goodnight to you, to these honest things, which I may or may not mind first thing in the morning
Goodnight my distant memories
And goodnight to my favorite mystery, to your quiet and kind consistencies
For it’s a good night I offer, honestly
A good night from another
A goodnight from me
Goodnight my father
Goodnight to your son
Goodnight moonlit stars and spinning earth
Though the turning therein has just begun
Goodnight my Lord, goodnight and please, watch over those in need of sleep
Goodnight my God, a good night to you
Good night you have been, good to me
https://soundcloud.com/user-433755196/good-night
allison May 2016
Monday 10:20 PM
I drank hot tea once you left and I guess I drank it too soon. I burned my ******* mouth.  I think that has a correlation to you leaving me.

Monday 11:00 PM
Please come back.  Please don't really leave.  You promised to always stay.

Monday 11:11 PM
Please, I'm sorry.  I'm begging for you.

Tuesday 12:04 AM
leaves voicemail sobbing

Tuesday 12:25 AM
We can work through this, please. You promised.

Tuesday 1:40 AM
Goodnight, my love. I'll love you forever.

Tuesday 6:00 AM
I hardly slept, I woke up clenching my pillow craving it to be you instead.  It wasn't.  Will it ever be you again?

Tuesday 7:17 AM
I'm not handling this too well.  I really need you.

Tuesday 12:00 PM
I'm going to try and work... I love you.

Tuesday 12:05 PM
leaves voicemail sobbing uncontrollably Work called me off.  I think that's a sign for me to cope at home.  However, I was looking forward to staying busy.

Tuesday 2:37 PM
I love you with my entire being.  Please think about this.  You're ending 9 months in one day.

Tuesday 11:00 PM (INCOMING TEXT)
I hope you're doing okay.

Tuesday 11:01 PM
I've missed you so much.  I'll be okay.

Tuesday 11:10 PM
Please tell me you love me.

Wednesday 1:30 AM
I love you, sweet dreams.

Wednesday 7:30 AM
Good morning, still little sleep.  I can't stop thinking of you.  I wish I could skip work today, I don't really know what's happening to my body right now.  

Wednesday 2:00 PM
I'm trying to hide from everyone at work.  This is really ******* hard.  It's hard to try and act okay while providing good first impressions.

Wednesday 6:00 PM
Can I come over?

Wednesday 6:40 PM
Is it too soon to see you?  Please say no.  I need you.

Wednesday 7:00 PM (INCOMING)
Yes, it's too soon.

Thursday 6:02 AM
I haven't ******* slept at all.  I need to hear your voice.  I keep listening to your voicemail's, but I only get 5 seconds in without crying.  I shouldn't have made you everything.  Now, my everything is gone and not okay.  I'm not okay.  I should have made you at least a little less of everything, so maybe I would be a little OK.  Maybe I would be able to recover that way.

Thursday 12:00 PM
I'm at work again.  It's just as hard.  You're not with me and I've hardly slept this week.  If you were with me though, I'm sure I wouldn't sleep either.  My heart has been pounding out of my chest this entire week. I can't eat either. These have been the only consistencies this week.  That and my dizziness.  I have been so ******* dizzy.  Everything is always spinning.
some days without you
some days I feel fit for life
a real contender in the race for...
whatever the goal is.
the vacancy sign is buzzing on my forehead
trying to remember what i'm supposed to never forget
but too often i always forget.
obviously today is not a fit day
today is not a day that goes down in the histories of
elegant thoughts or grandeur revelations
flagrancy has its consistency basting at the bottom of my spine
who knew thoughts like this could still be mine
****.
i'm not supposed to think things like that

if i were projected onto a screen
mindful of the electrical patterns governing
where exactly my eyes have been hovering
the views expressed do not reflect the views of Jeff's heart
please, avert thine eyes and let go of your pride
if only it were that easy.
anonymous999 Nov 2013
i know a boy with blue eyes and big hands
and i swear i met him twice.
once in may, and again in the june of the following year
the first, we laughed like lovers
and treated each other
like the world
i fell into his blue eyes
[the ones always on another]
and wished for his big hands
to stay very near to mine

but his words became emptier than his heart
the day he kicked me out of his life
for her,
in november.

the following june,
we found ourselves brought together
by a force so intense and natural
you'd have thought us magnets,
him the polar positive, and i, of course, the negative.
so we met again.
i, the same too-tall, too-broad,
blonde hair but brown eyes long-legged girl
and him,
a much more beautiful creature.
the same beautiful eyes, but more aquamarine
the same large hands, made tan
but he still had that tricky warm heart
that drew me in
it became in the second-too-long lingering of his
large hands along my waist
the look in his ocean eyes when i walked away from him
at football games
with the consistencies in his goodnights
it began to finally feel right
i’ve found roses hidden along deep wooded paths
and love hidden among memories that last

all i know is that im finally happy
and ive fallen in love with
a boy of ocean eyes and easy hands
whom i met
twice
inspired by @fleuroculous' the 'boy i met twice'
Tom McCone Jan 2014
starlight,
i won't forgive you,
for you haven't done a single thing wrong.

and you don't have to say
anything, i can hear
your heartbeat through the sheaves
of grass that grow back in
small increments:
i know you're there,
no matter how invisible you may
find yourself feeling, late at
nights you can't sleep to
be more like my consistencies, you never knew.

so show me a freckle on your arm,
or the breadth of the world,
or nothing at all. you've
already collected my insides.

love, life is meaningless, but perhaps
with some time and another place,
we could still find purpose. my hopes
are wearing thin, but i'm hardly dead
yet.

so, don't cry. it's okay to hurt,
like i understand you do. i'm
hurt too, but i can lick clean
all your wounds. i could be
yours
if you wanted
me to.

in dreams, i
hear the sea on your
mind, once again, and build
catamarans we'll sail out of this
disjoint union of townships and countrysides
on; and i'll gouge my heart out and pour it into the
ocean, so with each swell and retreat of the waves you can
hear how many of its contractions are dedicated to the lights in your eyes.
Moonsocket Oct 2017
My life is usually unraveling quietly inside various states of disarray

Its my own doing and I am a professional

I know I sound self absorbed and self afflicted

I hope I didn't steal your time

I am a lot of things

but I am not a thief

I suppose I could take comfort in some small consistencies streaming through our species

In comparison to the time we spend dodging trains

Or pursuing another 0rgasm with an animalistic momentum

This is light speed fleeting

Still

Only a small step away from creating black holes

Anyway...

I say obsessive compulsive disorder

the red tape says crazy

I say these 60 hours of consciousness are the product of a restless mind

the white suits say its surely a chemical inbalance

but upon what scale are they operating?

(eyebrows raised in disbelief)

THE SCALE OF SANITY OF COURSE

oh

The only thing that provokes a serious need for vacancy in my life

Is full pockets

That's not a half baked metaphor

nor is it an obscure display of nerves crumbling

...forever deconstructing inside a failed attempt at demonstrating the burdens of existence

I really cannot stand crowded pockets

My lifestyle does not accommodate such a condition

Tobacco boxes and plastic flames

Cheap contraptions for times subtraction

A wallet absent of evil

Still

Chalk full of all the proper identification for existing

and depending on the day

The necessary tools for twisting reality into compliance

A touch screen distraction full of pain and despondency

Its disgusting I know

we all stay cozy and space phone faded

When I come home

The first thing is excavating pockets

an act of defiance towards my own brain

I throw it everywhere

my disease has broken three phones

This has no purpose

Nor does is contain the thread of my own insecurities

its merely the ramblings of a mind finally breaking

its clearly time for the sleep that keeps eluding my trajectory

it will be a microscopic moment on a backdrop full of faceless collisions

My off switch is stuck on the green light

I wish I could wake up for a sun rise

instead of avoiding it like a criminal caught up in circumstance
Mitch Nihilist Dec 2015
it’s hard to bring back
to life someone who’s
already a shadow suspended
by dust in sunlight.
a partially eaten heart
trailed by ******
bread crumbs with no
start in sight.
replications of
past complications
forge a plagiarized
grin notarized by a shaky
pen on abstract paper.
bringing back to life
sand-burnt knuckles
reflecting tremors
through coils in the bottle
seems anything but feasible,
recovery and relapse are
few and far between
with a fine line that
splits at the seam
without warning,
the ice meeting
the bottom of the glass
again is a slow
graze of fingernails
across chalkboards,
help seems out of reach
when the leather begins to
leech to your skin
with each question repeated
over and
over and ******* over,
perceptions of positivity
can only withhold the
constant of being
a placeholder in
the tangent of
consistencies,
but light has the ability to break
through windowsills
and curtains,
yes I speak from experience
because it’s the only thing
that wakes me up in the morning,
but as I become use to
walking dead
I found my light that
wakes me up
in the afternoon
and puts me to sleep
at night
Mitch Nihilist Dec 2015
sure,
i need to
stop drinking
and stop
smoking but
when bad habits
become consistencies
that let you
survive the nights,
the ability to
shake the
rusty smell off
the fibres on your
back become
a bookmark
that prevents you
from turning the page
in a fear driven
halt of wondering
what happens next,
the stench that
trails through  
teeth to nose
is a tail to
a comet that won’t
burn out,
the embers of each
cigarette that kiss my lip
burn out like previous
feelings towards past lovers,
I was in a state
of loving memory of
having love and memories
until a therapeutic graze
of absolution picked me up
and brushed the bruises off
the bottom of my feet
given by
stomping the ominous
solitary of rock bottom
so many ******* times,
I still drink
and I still smoke
but when a
tedious whisper
tells you to stop
hurting and stop
hating when hurt
and hate is all you’ve
felt for fortnights
exceeded
you can’t just pick
the scars off of your
skin and liver
and walk past mirrors
without urges of
cardinal knuckles
and tremors coexisting,
i wish to stop
like you tell me to,
i wish washing my clothes
would dredge the stench
of yesterday clean,
but maybe the toxicity
of the past is stained on
my skin and
not my clothes.
brandon nagley May 2015
Hidden meanings foreshadow the gradient eminence off campus,
Stampless letters to be sent to thine dearest of ones!! Mother's hold thy daughter's, for you've lost your youngest son!!!!

Extensive Colgate frames to cover thy soulgaited plains,
Where fewest of animals hath roamed!!
Your caught in scrimmage,
Still Soo unsure if your found or lost at home!!!

Paceth back to and forth as far as thy walls will take you,
Where reprobate minds will break you,
Where loan sharks will rewrite tunes,

Sharking is their key to Finnish game!!!

They feeleth no Elysium,
Their one to thy flame!!!!!

Trilateral thinking freely turns negative,
Primitive to all known consistencies,
Bleeding at thy gums?
Third world indecently!!!

Misconstrue thine own miserly pull,
Galoot of what's not thine own!!!!!
Natasha Feb 2014
I
                                                               ­                                                               lo­ve
                                                                ­                                                                 ­               you
              
                               ­                                                                 ­       to
                                                              ­          the
                                                                ­                         horizon


                             where
                                                           the
         sun
                                               kisses
                    the
                                  ­                           sea,


                                                          ­                                               and
                                                                ­                           the
                                                             ­                                                 sky


          ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­           fills
                                                           ­                                                                 ­           the
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                                               creases

                                         ­                                                                 ­    where
                                                       ­                                  I
                                                               ­                                         fail
                   ­                                                              to
                                                              ­                                             fit
                                                             ­                           with  
                               ­                                  your
                                                                ­                     consistencies.
meekkeen Jan 2016
Effortlessness is what empties a room- a mind also being a room- and extends a willowy collection of bones that you hope you can touch in your attempt to communicate the context of the rooms, so that the enigmatic hand might grasp at least a flicker of recognition that the moment has passed, and now She must be going, receding ever sublimely into the airiness of a nascent week’s end- how contradictory- and so am I, begging for peace and quiet and crawling instead into the raucous night, like a blind centipede that is expected to scare away the house, making the true Resident Rodents their rightful place at the throne- the bejeweled Rat Regent rules the underworld, but She has ignored the portal and it has vanished- perhaps never there in the first place- perhaps She and the Rat King both made of smoke. A vestige of a vapor. A room within a room- windowless, wall-less, and wafting in and out of seeming existence like a flame- could it have been the same flame as was before? Could ever a flame be reborn, revived, said to have previously existed? Can one say this flame could not have already been? And is this room, this space, new or old? Perhaps recycled? Is it a fluctuation, regeneration, or is it a continuation- like infinite space? And when considering infinity, what to make of repetition? Pattern, even? What is to be said about consistencies? What can the ants see that we cannot? What is this perspective that we are given? And by whom? And our language- where does it bring us? To the next essentially empty room? Or do you feel the life pulsing right under your very nose, in the hidden eye of the void- do you sense the deaf-dumb omniscience of consciousness? And is it growing or dying? Is an ice-age approaching, or truly, is this a momentary lapse of reason- a period of time where reason (matter and the mind) take shape in the disembodied womb of consciousness? And how can one ever measure a moment?
written in a hotel room this weekend- a sterile space, where ideas stubbornly sprout like summer weeds
Esmé van Aerden Mar 2014
I saw you for the first time in the summer,
when sunflowers mourn the sun at night -
the loss of a light and adjoining heat,
which nurtures restlessness
in the confined atomic particles,
causing them to dance
and grow tired of each other until
ice becomes liquid
and liquid becomes vapor...

Cycles are consistencies in nature,
beginnings and ends that are defined by perception.
And so, in a way,
I'm not the first person
who thinks she loves you,
nor the last -
just a witness to a portion of your evolution,
which will end the same way it began:
a darkness constructed of eyelids,
as sweet as silence.

A sour sap of jealousy
seeps upon my thoughts when I see you.
I feel like screaming,
like pulling my hair out,
because unwanted epiphanies are pretty weeds;
dandelions that seed with winds.

A sap that blinds sufficiently
for me to believe you possessed green eyes.

I don't want to love you.

And yet,
I'm content with
the uncomfortable certainty of confinement,
of silence,
of distance and uninteraction,
with trailing eyes like shooting stars.
My first, and last, suicide letter. Evidently a failed attempt. I'm in a much better place now.
Simon Jun 2020
What is life about, essentially…? It’s not made to course-correct consequences about engineering the symmetry of logic itself. It isn’t about diversity that completely and utterly traverses the calamities that surround one past to another, only to have it crumble up into little delicate crumbs. Which (I’ve got to say…) Will put you into extreme peer pressure, when “oneself” decided to differ from the “actuality” of it all…only to strike down at the “whim” that cast’s judgement upon (not your “soul”…) Since a soul respectfully, goes beyond both mind and body itself. While also completely and utterly traversing that which is entirely unmanaged by both mind and body as a unified whole. B-but “recognition” itself. Recognition only envisioned, until it was ALREADY too late! Too late, for what, exactly…? Someone asks tempted to feel both the “source ******* killers” that plead against your own wishes. Wishes that (even MORE s-so then before) tempts oneself who just only wanted to judge (against their own delicate fond wishes) to bless for a single plea in one’s very “functioning” life, every once and a while. Yet, that’s all fine and good… Until everything again, again and again…comes crumbling down! But not full of ashes… O NO! NO! NO! Seeing as how “ashes” don’t represent well with the decision-making oneself who’s then forced to make upon those “fond delicate wishes”... For the blessing of a single plea is then outmatched not by a soul, o-or even the speculating “crumbling ashes”, either. It’s more o-or less about what you (single-handedly) want out of oneselves represented expectations. For those don’t appear to agree within the “deep-seeded withinness”. Which is your entitlement at being within oneself. Or (more specifically) the entire “inside out” of a sense of self. Because self isn’t reprimanded enough, when the recognition in that deep-seeded withinness doesn’t appreciate the “commanding protocols”, when (recognition) doesn’t “fruitfully” become “self-recognition”. Since those very (“commanding protocols”) can’t then outweigh the constructive criticism of the “actions” that go into those very commanding protocols. Because before you know it, recognition is just a made-up enclosure to purge “self” clean…RIGHT OFF THE **** MAP! For no one’s very recognition in self, would become hurt, as if they (just like the soul) has emotions for a self to strongly persist the actuality of it all, to be MORE then certainly right! How is any of this, then essentially possible…? Well it isn’t, since I have no mercy for this subject raising it against my own hand full of adversities playing too smoothly for all to hear. It isn’t that basic. Nor is it simple, BY ANY MEANS necessary! That being said, who would this complete “written” passage define the stakes oneself is willing to take at FINALLY mustering up the pure courage of recognizing self in the details for the deep-seeded withinness? Easy. Because I wasn’t the one who wrote this. As it may seem to be that way of course, towards the facts given with all the “expressions” revealed about oneself entirely. True. But not quite I’m afraid. For this isn’t about me, as it’s so much about the consistencies of how I’m just a mere specimen to the unbound logic (to myself) then it is to the one who simply transcribed either the full thoughts, emotions o-or even feelings in (not one’s very brain o-or mind…) Since those details to bode well with the representation trying to filter out without “thoughts” to plug those inconsistencies dry! Meaning they get in the way of something you ALL KNOW BY NOW, that is truer than even what a brain or mind could EVER come up with. Because sometimes, efficiencies lie! As that’s not always a good thing for someone with an over-amount of dramatic “pressure” already exceeding their very limits on peer pressure itself. The one who first asked, became MORE profoundly confused, as if to “click and smash” HARD pressurized synapses together to make an “even functionality” produce a (well thought-out) ingenuity. Except for the fact you already know (ahead of time), before even thoughts have gotten the “gist” of it all and have made their mark. For peace is without options, if one is willing to pay the ULTIMATE PRICE at otherwise, thinking all is made to piece certain compatibilities together to share openly with. But you see, it’s NEVER that simple…now is it? So, what does all this essentially entail…? Nothing of the sort, except both a VERY complex (someone or something) without the diversities for regular thoughts. But for “feeling” alone that is not within the realms of typical majority “Science” to explain its efforts. That’s exactly why it goes beyond thoughts in general. For the heart to seize all efforts both the brain and mind ALWAYS have cooking up. Just to impress themselves openly. Except without what I’d call is, “open viewing points”. Open viewing points without clear morals full of different varieties without harbouring the “self” in the details for ample recognition to amplify the surrounding areas of that very flaw. That is, if everything is politely willing to self-declare everything, without masking some…”other intention” without knowing where the rights of that very “recognition” went off it’s path…LONG AGO! S-so who is the one simply transcribing this passage? Just like they have a simulation to co-operate it without the one they’re simply transcribing about, isn’t within arms length of the one writing about the “deep-seeded withinness” firstly. That my “narrating” friends, is the entire platform of plot transcribing its simulation for translations. Except now, it has it’s fully adaptable (self-recognition) fully operated. It didn’t speak like a regular person before. It just “transcribed, transcribed, transcribed”! Until FINALLY, it was able to require such an operating system, if you would. Only to have it distributed upon its original functionality. Transcending it’s seemingly and supposed pre-programming design. Just as the stereotypical “science fiction” scenario about AI gaining “sentience” overtime. Just as humans require emotions to express that very sentience also, overtime. And all for what…? Trying to understand the passageways of information, was like a GREAT data stream! Made to look too inconclusive of itself. Especially falling behind witnesses who never even heard of such a thing. Who is now basically contrasting something without the information to give into, without fully adaptable knowledge of how to properly stream the VERY ample data without any (“deep-seeded withinness o-or open viewing points”) leading oneself forward one piece of data (“riding the current of a steady calm stream”) at a time? Forward to what…?! The “oneself” who was seemingly instrumented to guess, had now become claimed by the instance of power known as the “high of confusion”. Now dramatically instigated without the proper intentions for “self” in the details to co-opt something together without (memory serves that oneself to “recognize”) something without knowing simply how? That’s because it isn’t one’s very “tempted individuality” in the details. It’s the entire platform of plot’s (I guess to call it an individuality of sorts) self-recognition for it to speak clearer without any information becoming seemingly false, flawed o-or finding a justified error upon its primary judgement. Which spawns a newer adaptable action among your oneselves very claims, without the desires to “flag” for something not as inconclusive, as it was before that individual had a VERY specific experience. That’s now entirely turned into an “engagement”. For engagements are simulations with enough focus in the already transcribed details among the “data stream” full of individual components known as “oneself” in order to “use” to adopt the correct hold. Just enough in order to “found” something without yet, enough recognition in itself to fully see how “they” could FINALLY see it for themselves. Especially of all things, understand lives choices without completely disregarding the common advances at which those very things come in contact with said, recognition. Except, how do you know which recognition is yours, and not the means to a VERY cryptic countermeasure made to judge with no realizations, except for an illusion for you to “essentially” believe in? Since before the entire platform of plot’s syncing event called the “separation”. It didn’t know how to tell itself apart from the difference in its own self, when it now has another half that’s made to realize MORE of such an “originality” then it is for its own self-recognition to be the originality itself. Even thou one could gamble at which came first?! Or which is TRULY the either blessing in disguise, or the mask hiding behind its own “shame” taking on a (all too well specified) façade of a living lie promoting a VERY false simulation? So, the actual manner of speaking to what ANY of this actually entails… Is that what is life about, essentially…? It’s not because you can’t EVER handle such a truth. Instead, you false yourself against more lies, in order to benefit the truth which is ALWAYS hiding just beneath one’s very underbrush in order to seek out a better recognized self, for “self-recognition” in the otherwise always dwindling limelight. That my very sense of selves and VERY tempted individualities, is what lives about, essentially!
Life isn’t about your (supposed) given choices on a regular daily basis. It’s about the already (seemingly) justified countermeasures that strike the “unbound logic” at you for (none being the wiser) to essentially hear. PS… How do you know you can trust your own choices of that very decision-making? Or better yet… How could you EVER try and support those very given "actions" towards what recognition in self, is truly trying to tell you?!
susan Dec 2014
looking at the people around me
are they really so happy
   joyful
   at peace
do they not have worries
   discontentment
   disarray
   uneasiness
   cold sweats
   hard hearts
   disgusting habits
   habitual consistencies
   cheating minds
   adulterated souls

or is it only me?
Marie-Niege Aug 2014
If the moon had a pocket
he would not slide me in it.

I love the sight of him
the slight of him.

His consistencies
and insecurities,
only ever coming out
in the dead of the night,
is he anxious to see his lover
for fear that she may not be as
beautiful as the sun that replaces him
but rather as ugly as the
beaked birds that
pester and nag him.

Is that why he only sees her
in the wake of a hazy and lazy
dusk in newness of a short evening nap?
Colm Oct 2018
The shadows and consistencies
        The same old songs are killing me

Today I need unfiltered light
        A life away from reflective screens

Today I need another me
        Today I need another me
the state of being strikingly different from something else, typically something in juxtaposition or close association.
Jill Oct 15
Why do we carry this language of blame
Describing our keys to survival?
Subsist and survive are not really the same
The latter complexion, more skin in the game
Not best-life but rest-life deprival

How can we cope in inflexible ways
When bad comes with real consequences?
Surely attaining more subsequent days
Shows that our coping is worthy of praise
Extended, effective defences

When can we grant ourselves residency
With normal societal backing?
Without the heretical hesitancy
But carrying coping more elegantly
Set free from self-tackling attacking

       Can we retell our histories
       Including the victories
       Earned by our damaged main actor?
       Are social consistencies
       Issuing injuries
       Skipping the benefit-factor?

Behaviours may surface inexorably
No use in my current rendition
But very successful in rescuing me
And thus, I will carry them generously
Admit that I needed them desperately
       But not in my present condition
Release them with grateful permission
©2024

BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge (rendition) date 15th October 2024. A rendition, simply put, is the act or result of rendering something. That thing may be a performance or interpretation, a depiction, or a translation.
Kenya83 Feb 2018
Nothing lasts forever
I can’t bear those three words
Truth is acceptance
That endings are inevitable
My dog won’t always greet me
You won’t always bring my morning tea
Comforts and consistencies have to end somewhere
Though I know this to be true
It scares me
I’m still frozen with gut-wrenched dread
At the inescapable
Though I wholeheartedly know
Nothing lasts forever
Laura Dec 2022
this year i don’t want any games,
or the off-brand Dyson,
or for him to text me back.
I don’t want my health either, or
the loud lobby music at work,
not the invite to the holiday party.
I don’t want the short ugly uggs,
the pastel candle stick holders,
or the designer knit fits.
I don’t want to feel normal,
like i’m eighteen and self-assured
when everything made sense
because i didn’t know anything anyways.
I don’t want the sweet nothings,
or coal in the place of consistencies -
I just want some chocolate,
and maybe my masters degree.
Trenna Jun 2023
A loop full of consistencies and inconsistency's
a cycle of love lust and hate
we swear we'll never love again the pains are to much to bare
than again your getting ready for your next new date
what happened to giving yourself a break
well now that's to late
onto the next
you easily let them in right past your gates
a little too soon
don't you think
you should wait
it's better now than never
why stall if you feel everything's right
Settle a date
Tie the knot
but no
Imma give myself time
Only a few hours past and your making sure everything is perfectly timed
sweating off your masterpiece that took over what seems to be forever
What will it matter when the new paint you got to change the painting that never really changes
When the painting you try to change is forever permanent
Daan Dec 2019
Why work with epiphanies
when we would explore
much more within consistencies
even if they are a bore?

You could be a boring master
by working, boring, faster.
How can you expect
every thing to be amusing, perfect
your craft without the tedious, bruising,
time-consuming losing?

The snowboarder falls,
the student apalls
the hunter tears,
the seamstress stitches,
the merchant cares,
the student *******.
The nerd unfollowed
the herd and what he deserved
occurred.

The maker smiles, the bee
compiles, the watcher sees,
the captain, seas, the piles
may grow and a voice but
you must know you have no choice.

Now, set sail, it's evening, squire,
not to late to reach wherever you desire.
Late and travel brings dark and fear,
you must go now, for what you must acquire
will never be acquired here.
Hoist the colours!
I found myself remembering the past and present days
and thought about my nature and the way that I was raised
I learned to seek a certain kind of solace in the depths
of where it was I came from ‘fore I ever took a breath

Consistencies were born in me before I ever was
I reveled in the pureness they poured out into my blood
I look for them to this day still, and fight the urge to say
the sea outside my body carries inconsistent waves
born / raised

— The End —