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Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
In the darkness of constricting depression
I begged the Lord to give me joy even if it killed me,
and He promised me it most assuredly would,
for this is joy’s mantra:

“Death to self!”

It is simply not possible to know the deepest kind of joy
until we have experienced the anguish of death to self
with a cruel stake of affliction though our hearts.
For it is there on the altar of sacrifice
when we have finally surrendered what is most dear to us,
when we have willingly brought our costliest gifts
to lay humbly at the feet of the King,
that we are raised up to know firsthand His resurrection joy
through the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings.
No one who has ever truly learned that
“to live is Christ and to die is gain”
has ever escaped this path.

Find me even one.

There is nothing quite like rejection to teach us about God’s love,
nothing quite like loss to teach us of His joy,
nothing like storms to teach peace,
nothing like ruined plans to teach patience,
nothing like loneliness to teach kindness,
nothing like failure to teach us of His goodness,
nothing like betrayal to teach faithfulness,
nothing like being completely misunderstood to teach gentleness
and nothing like humiliation to teach us self-control.

Why is this?

Because there is nothing like pain to chase us to Jesus
and to teach us to rely so helplessly on His Spirit’s filling.
And when we have His filling, we will know His fruit.

“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
~Philippians 1:21

“But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them *******, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ--the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.”
~ Philippians 3:7-11

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”
~ Galatians 5:22-25

“Then He said to them all: 'Whoever wants to be My disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow Me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will save it.'“
~ Luke 9:23-24
clever Mar 2018
when i saw it, it was just past midnight.
the residual blur of every flashing light.
red and blue, pulsing in your driveway.
holding my breath, keeping tears at bay.
i just couldn't tell if it was you out there.
my lungs constricting, denying despair.
you've been my best friend since forever.
you'd always been there through whatever.
they wouldn't let me past the caution tape.
this time, they wouldn't let you escape.
i love you but i can't help you this time.
i wish i could. my heart breaks for you.
i love you more than anyone else could.
i love you, too. i love you like ****, chica.
Amanda Mar 2018
Fill the hollow crevice of my existence
With light, show me a warmer way
Stop numbness from taking over
I am slipping further0 into dismay.

Down the senseless pit of despair
My direction is out of control
Darkness paralyzes my mind
Strangling thoughts that crawl and roll

Constricting my body until I give up
I kick the air but cannot land a blow
The empty space will never stop resisting
The sound of my own scream has become my foe.

The endless void swallows my voice
Here the tears I cry fall forever
The lies I have told mean nothing now
I knew my will was always meant to sever.

Faced with nothingness all around
This is my life; a ******* hole
It's slowly shoving me outwards
Little by little, pain taking over my soul.

Chaos has reality gripped
In a tight but unsure grasp
Confusing the mass of color
And motion contained in its clasp

Bullied by the tidal wave of isolation
Head above water though it is strong
Giving up the ability to move
Surviving by the current floating me along.

My consciousness is traveling lethargically
I no longer feel my torso or limbs
Attempt to wiggle a finger but it won't budge
It takes all my strength to speak and part dry lips.

This is where existence ceases
Where time's beginning meets its end
An unending loop of monotonous emotions displayed
A breif instant in which Eternity life does suspend
This started as how I felt when I was crippled by heartache and doubt but switched lanes kinda. It's random I suppose. But it sounds pretty.
Carter Ginter Jul 2018
I started writing a poem about him
And the beginning sounded like ours
The one where I told you that
Words aren't enough to define us
And yes words are limiting
They also have a way of telling you more
If you pay close enough attention
When "I love you endlessly"
Turns to "ILY" and
"I can't imagine my life without you"
Turns to weeks of sitting alone
And all the "I miss you"s
Turn to "how are you"s
As if you even cared
Your actions never matched your language
Were your words too limiting for you?
When I was still always there for you
And all you did was break promises?
Were the words you spoke too constricting?
At least that would explain why you broke them
Though still not why you said them
Maybe you were afraid to let me down
Or afraid to really be seen
Or just so self-absorbed that you didn't care
That you couldn't care
About yourself
Or about me
Zumee Oct 2018
She stands at the window
a fine white stream of goodevil knowledge
trickling down her chin

Lungs heaving against the pane
Lungs heaving against the pain
She longs for a killer breeze
from the die-hard fan.

The yellow-eyed seconds slither out the clock
hi S S ing in rhythm as they crawl.

On the table lies the used core of a once
juicy red delicious
hourglass figure, cyanide hearts and all

She is aware of her own nakedness.

The moon watches on
bleeding silver
from stab wounds by dagger-branches
waiting for a ***** in the window
through which to enter

The Tree of Life towers menacingly overhead.

He walks in
intelligent-designer suit: businessgod attire
briefcase in hand
brief case in point

He knows.
She knows.
Time knows.

An Electrified goliath stirs in the depths

The Ego awakens
lifts its rod
beckoning to the waves of children behind it,
parts the folds of red sea
charges head on.

It rides long and hard
hooves pounding the riverbed
to pull out on the other side

But the branches find their *****.

The Enraged goliath stumbles
Ego trips
relentless walls closing in,
It goes under in a seizure
frothing at the mouth
as its children swim.

Time holds the twosome breath in its constricting grip
Tree binds Life inside a cell
at the center of the evolving prison

The pane, reflecting
The pain, reflected
Window souls mirror souls Window

Branches regain their higher dwellings.

An exhumed goliath stirs
on a distant shore.

She stands at the window
a fine white stream of goodevil knowledge
trickling down her shin.
Diana Sep 2018
When you think of perfection
I hope my name
Breaths down your neck
And crawls it's way
Into your brain
Imprinting delicately against it
Leaving with it
A trail
Of blissful memories
In its wake

When I think of heartache
Your name
Sneakily snakes its way around
My heart
Carrying with it
A heavily weighed metal chain
That sharply bites against
My fragile *****
Tightening and constricting it
With my every shallow breath
Leaving bruises
Not only ones visible to the ***** eye
But ones that *******
Far beyond the surface
Of the newly broken and bruised tissue
Reminding me
Of all the
"Blissful memories"
We shared
MG Dec 2018
how do you explain:
i'm the one who's broken my own heart.
years of allowing negativity into my cracks,
tolerating it's bloom.
only now trying to rip out their roots.
but they have grown like weeds.
manifested in my chest, tangled throughout my ribs.
trying to make them love me, to make them see.
trying to fall back in love with myself,
is really not that easy.
it actually hurts more than loving any one else.
because you know, more than anyone, what you're capable of.
good and bad.
but please, in my upmost hour of desperation,
im begging myself
to take myself back.
she misses you.
she needs you now more than ever.
still waiting for me to come back
She feels like a young woman,
once again...
It's not like its
her first kiss,
first date,
or first love-
but it feels like
Her First All Over Again...
Its almost; as if,
she's gone back in time.

Her hands are cool,
palms sweaty-
Her heart is beating rapidly,
her tummy full of lil' butterflies-
She's a woman now-
but, the excitement, is just the same.
Should she have these feelings,
as she is, even though,
she isn't a young one anymore?

Her and her beau
are sitting on her bed-
He leans towards her,
she closes her eyes-
as he brushes his lips upon hers.
His lips...
so warm, soft, and giving!

He puts a hand through her hair,
along her neck, pulling her towards him-
closer, to deepen their kiss!
She puts a hand on his chest,
the other on the back
of his head-
keeping him right where she wants him.

They kiss for several long moments...
She moans softly,
he pulls her upward
and gently sits her upon his lap.
They melt into one another!

Each kiss;
more intense and increasingly
demanding, as the previous one-
he wants to taste her fully-
he flicks his tongue along her upper lip-
coaxing her to open up to him,
hoping she'll allow him access-

She parts her lips
with a hunger like no other
she had felt before!
Oh, the passion they feel...
the enticement that builds-
His tongue teases hers
with a seductive tangle...

as their internal heat is high,
their clothing; too constricting-
they undress one another-
throwing articles of clothing
this way and that-
They have this bite of Heaven-
these stolen cherished moments
to just him and her... alone!

Passion, and pure desire
heightens them to anew.
The friendship
these two have built;
has been turning into this love
they now feel.
This love these two
feel, has been growing
for several months,
is right at their hands;
becoming deeper-
making them come alive!

Feeling so right, he takes her-
entering her in one full deep movement-
claiming her as only his!
Taking their passion
to a high- neither
could remember feeling before-

As they ****** together,
and lay in one another's arms'
totally satisfied- they cuddle
and close their eyes just for a few moments-
Then, he tells her he's never felt
so loved before!
And the twinkle in her eye
tells him she feels just the same!


COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
Yip Wayne Aug 2018
Clear seas behold unsettled waters,
And they say calm waters run deep,
Tread the stormy ocean I did,
Only to find myself drowning among the reef.

The weight of the water held me down,
The surface within my reach but felt so far,
Bewildered I was with thoughts that I could drown,
My hopes were slumped as I sink into the dark,

That was when I felt my lungs constricting,
Dragged down by the anchor beneath me,
The sunlight fading with each passing minutes,
My arms stretched out in hopes that someone would save me

Images of my life flashed before my eyes,
My mouth gasping with the little bits left of my life,
Only to taste the salty bitter tragedies that befell upon me,
Then it became a silent tranquil moment

My fingers loosen the grips on the strings I once held tight
As my old empty vessel drifted along with the tides
I felt calm for once in my whole entire existence
And I let my wandering soul swim towards another life
Andrew Dec 2017
They either say "We'll spend some time"
Or they say "Well, never mind"
Is it the apostrophe
That makes us we?
Or is it a mentality
That sets us free
To changes
And ranges
Of open thoughts and feelings
That bring us together
Until negativity starts stealing
And our connections we sever

We'll feel well
After escaping the ****
That is the difference between well and we'll
But they will not be the hands that heal
When they act like adding the apostrophe
Is tantamount to apostasy
So they wield sabres
Of different flavors
Like the shallow gravers
And the glow stick ravers
That look good on paper
Until they are erased
When I need their embrace
I'm left hanging
Like an apostrophe
Putting me down
Into a comma coma
Leaving holes in me
Like a drama stoma
Like a mama boa

You're your apostrophe
When you take away being
And turn something into a possession
You channeled my overt obsession
Then punctuated with aggression
The end of our sentence

I can't survive this period of my life
When savages cause serious strife
By adding small marks to me
Until it becomes too dark to see
In the shadow of their apostrophe
Katie Oct 2018
                            stumbling deeper, trembling
                                  sprawling, toppling.
                                 a clumsy kind of pain


      ­                             warm golden pools,
                        searing as they drip, drip, drip.


       ­                              trapped between
                           the confines of a Memory
                                   tight little space
                                     don’t go in it,
                                        no escape.


                                        my skin,
                                        my heart,
                                       my lungs.
                             carved and branded.
                                      red, raw
                                  push deeper


            ­            constricting of my chest,
                       rapid rising of my breast.
                             everything’s hazy.
            ­                          its bliss.


                        protected, hidden now.
            a simple price to pay, a silly little trick

            ­                       Down
                                                            ­   Down.
Sid Lollan Aug 2017
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

(Authors of (obligatory)
Redemption: what is true genius if it ain’t dead yet?
Let you, who **** it, not be present for its resurrection.)

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

i had a nightmare:

i opened the door of my ranch-house in the boonies of
southern pa.
out-into the grasses of the old Congo;
There stood the Lion.
20 feet away
i, frozen in the magnitude of his vision;
spirit, dominated by his
Not even a growl.
i remained
paralyzed—he licked the backs of his paws
and combed a wiry mane...
…a halfa-second was a year if it was a halfa-second now...
somewhere in there
i regained my legs and without knowing
grabbed the doorknob. Twist. Open. Step inside.
turn to close the...doorway is gone, the house has vanished

i was nothing but-a body of plastic fear
melted and cast into mannequin limbs and head.
i could feel the Lion’s entire, real
spirit crushing spirt
on my hollow caste self.

his breathe stunk of blood that
forced my replicaego into infant curl…
…Finally, the beast roared a canyon
i shivered!
a shiver that shook inside my head
thru the spine to shake
my bones inside the bed.

Thru the constricting red curtain of bloodclot eye
spy the tiny eclipse
of the Black Crow inna massive sheet of african sun;
i must be dead already.
The Lion feels the Crow perched onna cape fig nearby
and his muscles tighten accordingly, his beastly hunger
displaced by boiled-blood anger.

with the beast
where Fear has reached saturation-point;
it is Nothing if it is Everything…
…the Crow lets out a hiss
like spikes of radio-static, interrupted by series
of whooping-caws…
…stomach vibrated by the Lion’s low,
almost internal growl. For the
first time, his tranquilizing orbs
divert from mine
to capture the Black Crow perched on the dying cape fig.
uncertainty taps my shoulder…then…i feel my body;
the weight releases
and as i motion to rise from the grass and dirt, the Congo dissolves and i’m
sitting up on my mattress with broken springs in the humid
summer slumber of southern pa.

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

-What security?
under deep-cover;
jungian re-uploads. Them. Resurrected witha blackmarket
medicine a Witch Doctor devolution;
Replicate, regenerate, forever
<01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100111 01110010 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100>
Bottom feeding grave robbers and tomb vandals are all they are!-

-Better check what ya put down here…liable to shape a ghoul,
and you know this haunt is made-up of enough spooks-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Professors of chaos preach:
O wanderers!
write me the manifesto
walking atop a line of hot coals
-I smell me some burning soles-

(They intend to:
Pour, pure from cold-clear spring-spout
      into muddy-brown-clay, dissolved,
rushing against dried-up bones of gully-walls…
…the Crow just sits above
         and laughs there

Don’t ya see it?)

is not about the past,
about what the present
can mold the past
for the future.
-the marble’s trajectory sure to
flip onnit’s axis d’pending on which record you dig-

(One mistake
can a coward make
one accident happen
up-on that a martyr stake’d.
etched in the rut of each separate fate;)

The lion
must roar for his P R I D E
lion wears his hide
as a mascot
Black Crow eats crow egg blues
        black crow spotted me yellow in the bushes
pants down, gun-in-hand
-send your prayers-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Hannah Marriott Jun 2018
You ever want to cry for no ****** reason,
and bawl your eyes out for a melancholy you can't pin down?

You ever feel invisible iron bands constricting around your chest,
and trapping your breath in your burning lungs?

You ever want to scream, tearing up your throat with sound,
and you have no ******* clue why because everything was fine?

You ever get home on a good day, knowing you should be happy,
and it's all you can do to get into bed before you fall apart?

You ever feel overwhelmed, with everything's too bright, too loud,
and all you want is for everything to stop, for you to stop, just...

You ever look at your life, realize nothing bad ever happens to you,
and still kinda feel half-dead inside anyway?

You ever curl inwards into yourself from the pain of it,
and never find out what 'it' is?

You ever hate yourself a bit,
and hate yourself for that because you were raised on love?

You ever just want to lay down on the cold, unyielding earth
and let life go on without you?

Graff1980 Nov 2018
It gets late
as I digest
what I just ate,
some greasy food
and horrible news.

Slumber sneaks in
and I barely feel
it taking me
against my will.

In my dream
I see a pudgy
pale faced
angry man,
skin glistening
with sweat
and thin streaks
of sick salivation
sliding down
the side of his
plush cheeks.

A rumbling voice
of desperate rage
vibrates congestedly
from his strangely
changing face.

Bulbous bulges
of tumorous flesh
in random places
and irregular

His eyeballs explode
from constricting sockets,
causing small jelly chunks
of red, black, and white
to fly at my wide eyes,
while his mouth expands
pulling back to expose
many new emerging rows
of sharp, small, decaying,
black, brown, and yellowish teeth.

His skin ruptures,
stretching jaggedly
in unpredictable places
as he bellows angrily.
Slick gore covered flesh
falls from his form
seeming to smoke
with the putrid smell
rotting roast beef.

Not fully free from
the last bits
of human flesh
the creature
lunges at me,
slipping slightly
on the newly greased ground,
but recovering just as quickly.
Then just as his mouth
is about to chomps down
on my left arm.
I awake
safe from harm.

My computer still blaring
is now sharing
terrible scenes
of the latest
war atrocity.

There are corpses of women,
men, and children
with shrapnel shredded skin,
even little baby bodies
scattered amongst them
in a crater from
some local bombing.
Crimson streaks
trail the frail
disfigured forms
that family members
struggle to carry away.
Strangers moan in pain
not physical,
but spiritual,
and emotional.

My stomach turns
as I yearn
to return
to sleep,
cause I’d rather face
a fake nightmare beast
then see the horrors
stretched out before me
on my computer screen.
muteD 10h
and my chest keeps constricting.
and my eyes keep watering.
and my head keeps hurting.
I was in the middle of if having an anxiety attack.
Thursday Oct 2018
Let the spiders eat me away
i'm not finding life any less constricting that the webs they lay
Life is too short anyway
whats the point in adding more hope to the already bent tray
I won't find joy in pretending to be okay
I won't find myself counted with the pretenders who pray
that one day they'll wake up and be what they say
Instead i'll thread the waters of life's turbulent bay
with the thought that everything will end at the end of the day
i'm more that happy to live and die this way
Sunny Oct 2018
Every day is the same.
Wake up late. Procrastinate.
Rush to get ready, board a bus.
Go to school. And wait.

I’ve never understood
Why people are so heartless.
People swearing and shouting and arguing at each other.
I just walk down the halls, trying to block out all the sound.

People ask me questions a lot.
“Why don’t you talk? Can you even speak?”
Yes I can, but it’s not like I don’t want to talk.
I can’t, because there’s no point in it.

You don’t know what it’s like to hate your own voice.
To feel like you won’t be understood
‘Cause your voice is too soft and deep and quiet
And you have a ****** lisp that impedes with everything.

You don’t know what it’s like to have people talk about you.
“He only talks to one person,” they say.
It makes me feel like ****.
But nobody cares how I feel.

Every day is the same.
I try my best to hide my feelings.
But sometimes things slip out
When I don’t want them to.

I cried once in class.
Put my head down on the desk.
After I was called a name by someone.
After no one would let me sit down on the bus.

I’m exhausted all the time.
I don’t want to do anything.
I just want to sleep all day.
It’s not like I’ll do anything else with my time.

I want to connect with people.
Even if I don’t understand them.
But it’s so difficult
When you face roadblocks every day.

Every day is the same.
My mind races with thoughts
“You’re going to ***** up. You’re an idiot. A loser.”
“A worthless waste of space in this world.”

“Don’t answer that question, he won’t hear you.”
They tell me to speak up, but I can’t.
It’s like something’s constricting me.
It’s the anxiety, and all those ****** thoughts.

I’m not happy anymore. I forgot the last time I was.
Can’t do anything anymore. The spark I had is gone.
It faded away with all my passions and desires.
I don’t see the point in doing anything.

Sometimes I think about the end.
I know nobody would care if I’m gone.
But then again, I can’t do that to her.
Not when all I want is to spend time with my girl.

I wish she was here. I wish we could talk.
One day isn’t enough for everything I want to say.
It’s irritating, frustrating, this distance is killing me.
But I know it’s not her fault, and I’m not mad.

If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be.
If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be the person she is now.
It’s amazing, how she’s able to survive with those parents of hers.
While I’m just a speck in a vast void of nothingness.

I hate them. I hate them so much.
They call her names, they insult who she is.
She’s just trying to be who she wants to be.
Why would you try and ***** that from her?

She’s precious to me, can’t you see?
I tried so hard to get you to understand.
But you ignored it all, you never believed me.
So I’m done trying. There’s no point.

She’s the only one that makes me happy.
When I’m around her, everything just fades away.
My fears, my sorrow, my ****** thoughts.
I wish I could be by her side forever.

I miss her so much.
It’s like my heart is breaking when we’re apart.
I know, somehow, we’ll get through this.
And it will all be worth it.

Someday, I’ll be by your side.
Someday, your lips will touch mine.
I know one day, we’ll finally be together.
And we’ll never be apart from that point on.
Definitely the longest poem I've written in general.
Things have been hard the last couple weeks. I wanted to touch on that.
Depression is why I haven't written as much as I'd like. I don't see a point in it sometimes.
But a few minutes ago, I felt that spark return. And I embraced it as I let the words flow.
Laurence Worsham Nov 2018
Sound the horns before the crash of the drums,
Reign forever the promise,
only as long as does not perturbe the ageless splendor of it's denial.
The angry man is vain in his resentment of luxury as he toils,
and so he proceeds in vain of his resentment.
The happy man is foolish in his love of life, forgotten to that horrible heaping part of himself,
sprawled with constricting joints and bleeding that blood,
Pay he luck not to remember.
Always eager was accepted by the Earth.

Always downward impress the power and cascading mountains of the horizon.
Ever so that the dwindling height impresses the speck at the edge of it's microscopic lense.
From what pestle were ground these grains of what the body shivers to behold?
From what tree was made sacrifice and ripped the shreds of this beautiful scenery?
From what point does the needle steer it's compass,
Pulsates the ebb of the magma of power.

The excretions of raw turmoil brews,
Below the vats of anamorphic **** was raised,
And up was risen low on high and behold that it was seen.
The slumber had encroached upon itself,
Flitting it's tail at the flies and leftovers of the night.
The spoils of day at hand make clear the path of the arm.
I am stretched about it's expanse and yearn the pangs of inward loss.
The melting hot aftermath boils my blood dark and red,
I am ready to sanctify these old bones with new fire.
I lurch my eyes upon the stocks and bundles,
I am in love.

Flesh loathes the indulgence of the mind,
masked in the light by its submission.
I have made acquaintance with the tonic of breath upon the bellows of breast,
I met the waves that mirror this and thine.
Well met are they, and I said that it was good!
To the heavens which impress me impress myself!
Know my mind you manifold of high towers!
Know me that lightning had stricken the chapels of your Kingdom, my name in blazing stars.
Know my name to the inextricable folds of your searching rebuttal.
And behold my pride,
erected there with bricks I would bet against mountains.
Was my blood so bold to creep back whence it came?
If not so, then was made ***** to my own boldness.
So there it was,
and so wept the Earth for a thousand years.

Tears falter to the sun, and my cheek is dry.
You know me, but what are you hiding?
Amongst the flags of nations the sweat of day unfurled,
There in the depths must be hidden.
Feed me or be refused the exhilaration of my tongue.
Set loose the fruit into my view,
I will do the rest.
Having filled my bucket of what belongs to me, harken to my plea for more,
To the adoption of my whimsy,
flicking fast the worm of yesterday.
I had worms in my thin stomach.
Aside it, the froth of snails had savored,
molding the lowest of all my opinion.
Better is the least of my gripes,
entrust me this day or all days hence I will mock you.
The threat twas modest now cast into hard metal for the shackles of a generation of tender feet.
What had inspired now falters,
I can weep no more.
Terry O'Leary Jan 19
.             <Well, ShallowMan’s ne’er at a loss>
              <for voicing shallow thoughts that gloss.>
              <With trenchant wit he reaps the dross>
              <when seeking sense in applesauce.>

              <But to his aid flies FactoidMan>
              <who always has a Fact at hand;>
              <with him, who needs a whether-man>
              <to answer “if?” or “but?” or “and?”?>

“Oh ShallowMan, let me explain
the Facts of life to you, so plain,
yet flush with truthful thoughts arcane.
When understood, you won’t maintain
that callowness you think urbane.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, give benedictions,
                              save me from all contradictions
                              with your knowledge, no restrictions
                              finding Facts, avoiding fictions.”

“Well, when in doubt, you always may
request my help to find your way
through shades of black and white and gray,
and from the Facts you’ll never stray.
Yes, ShallowMan, I’ll make your day.”

                              “Since yesteryear I’ve wondered why
                              I’m served a piece of humble pie
                              whene’er attempting to descry
                              just what’s a Fact, and what’s a lie,
                              and which be Facts one can’t deny.
                              With candor, can you edify
                              me with some recondite reply?”

“Well, as you know, my Facts are Facts
which naught nor nothing counteracts
and things that do, mere artifacts
in dim myopic cataracts.”

“A lie’s a thing which disagrees
with Facts I utter, if you please,
and hides the forest from the trees
ignoring all my verities.”

“And this reminds me of my youth,
with axioms defined as truth
which I selected as a sleuth
(abetted by a sweet vermouth);
I being now so long of tooth,
to contradict me’s hardly couth.”

                              “That certainly helps me clarify
                              whom I can trust: yeah, you’re the guy!  
                              Now, furthermore I’ve wondered why
                              the moon can’t fall and clouds can fly.  
                              What’s called that law those facts defy?
                              And mightn’t I just give a try
                              to make a guess to verify?”

“If you link your facts to law
(ah, please excuse a gruff guffaw)
you’ll certainly flaunt a flimsy flaw
that strains belief and breaks the straw
of what you’ve heard and thought you saw.
(I‘ll leave you with some bones to gnaw
that leave you holding me in awe
when once you’ve grasped and gasped ‘aha’).
So tell me now your ideas, raw,
but keep it short, your blah, blah, blah.”

                              “Umm, could it be just gravity
                              (well, something like a theory
                              that some call Relativity)
                              which pulls the apple from the tree
                              and puts a strain upon my knee;
                              or is that fact absurdity?”

“Ahem, a theory’s just a theory,
not a Fact, it’s all so eerie,
something which should make you leery
as explained until I’m weary.”

                              “If Relativity’s a theory,
                              and a theory’s not a Fact,
                              is it a fiction I can query
                              when I’m falling, ere I’m whacked?”

“Though theories might be based on Fact,
a theory is, in fact, not backed
by any cause, effect or act
which might be salvaged when attacked.
For you, this Fact may seem abstract,
plumb depths where shallow thoughts distract.”

“Yes, what goes up must soon come down
is quite a Fact of world renown.
But theory’s just a heathen gown
to deck the ***** King in town,
and when he falls, he breaks his crown
which leaves him wearing but a frown.”

“It surely should be obvious,
the property of Heaviness
(like Godliness and Heaven-ness)
defines the cosmic edifice,
refuting Newton’s flakiness
and Einstein’s spooky emphasis  
on space-time’s 4-D flimsiness.
Yes, Facts like these are copious
(I count them with my abacus);
to argue would be blasphemous
displaying mental barrenness
about the push and pulling stress
when bouncing ***** rebound, unless
one views elastic laziness
as evil Satan’s stubbornness.”

                              “Well now I think I understand,
                              that gravity seems somewhat grand,
                              but’s just, in fact, a rubber band
                              that stretches through our earth-bound-land
                              constricting us when we expand.”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you finally got it,
just as I’ve long preached and taught it.
I’m so happy that you’ve bought it.
(Not a question nor an audit -
you’re so shallow, who’d have thought it?)”

              <Once ShallowMan dipped into science>
              <seeking FactoidMan’s alliance>
              <gaining, hence, a strong reliance>
              <on the Facts and their appliance,>
              <justifying strong compliance,>
              <turning down those in defiance.>

                              “Hey, FactoidMan, another topic
                              leaves me reeling, gyroscopic,
                              dealing with the microscopic
                              in a world kaleidoscopic.”

                              “Within the realm of vacuum loops
                              Dark Energy in quantum soups
                              of anti-matter sometimes swoops
                              across inflation’s Big Bang stoops
                              where space-time ends and matter droops.
                              Do you believe, or just the dupes?

“It’s nothing but a passing phase,
(a theory that in fact betrays
obscure occult communiqués
that fevered fantasy conveys)
of those who thump creation days.
Just check! The vacuum state portrays
perfection in your shallow ways
reflected in that vacant gaze
you cast upon the dossiers
of all my Facts that so amaze.”

                              “And what about the quantum theory?
                              Particles not hard but smeary,
                              just like waves? It’s kinda eerie!
                              Facts could not be quite so bleary
                              leaving Bohr, well, sad and teary.
                              FactoidMan, just tell me, dearie,
                              what the Facts are, bright or dreary.”

                              “And then again what are those holes
                              (as black as ravens bathed in coals)
                              wherein the past and future strolls
                              exploiting fields that Higgs controls
                              beneath the shady shallow shoals
                              between magnetic monopoles.”

“The science lab’s a ‘fact’ory
concocting stuff that cannot be
(like unknown realms and notably
those tiny things NoMan can see
with ***** eye on bended knee
neath microscopic scrutiny)
and claim they’ve found reality;
they call their god a ‘Theo’ry
(a fig-ment of the Yum-Yum tree)
that leads them to hyperbole
about the singularity
that’s dipped in dazed duplicity
denying all eternity.”

“Here’s my advice that seems to work:
ignore the ones with ‘facts’ that lurk
behind their ‘proofs’ (which always irk),
and being challenged have the quirk
of stepping back within the murk
(indulged, I chuckle, smile or smirk).”

              <Now ShallowMan is quite content>
              <receiving FactoidMan’s consent>
              <to quibble and express dissent>
              <as long as keeping covenant>
              <with fingers crossed and belfry bent>
              <when viewing Facts in sealed cement:>

                               “The Facts you give me circumvent
                               those ‘truths’ your chuckles supplement;
                               although they might disorient
                               they can’t be wrong, I won’t dissent,
                               just using ones which you invent.“
“(No need of source in that event).”

                               “Your wise advice is simply sound
                               in cases where a game is bound
                               to parcel points out round by round
                               or else on verbal battleground
                              where know-it-alls are duly crowned.”

              <Though ShallowMan is kinda slow>
              <he still takes time to learn and throw>
              <his facts and theories to and fro,>
              <amazing facts which seem to show>
              <that theories sometimes come and go,>
              <returning strengthened with the glow>
              <of new found facts (for which to crow)>
              <that fill the gaps of long ago.>

                               “Oh FactoidMan, just tip your cap!
                               I’ve found a piece to fill the gap
                               that simplifies a mouse’s trap:
                               if triggerless, it still will clap
                               to give the mouse a mighty zap
                               that makes its tiny back bone snap.”

                               “With mousetrap type simplexity,
                               reducible complexity
                               helps arguments’ duplexity
                               with twists of crude convexity.”

“Ha-ha! That serves to prove my case:
for each gap filled, two in its place,
each growing at the doubled pace;
for unfilled gaps, I’m saying grace
(they help, indeed, for saving face)
Trying to get out of neutral....
don't know whether I'm in first or reverse...
Amanda Nov 2018
I always hurt by caring too much
Expecting similar effort in return
This time thought I could maintain control
Some habits too deeply rooted to unlearn

There seems to be no magic number
Of heartbreaks able to change my ways
Come back to the very thing that destroys me
Resolve weakens in a matter of days

Each time I crash a little harder
The throbbing gets worse, injuries more severe
Plunged into a deep pool of denial
Would rather live a lie than face you not here

Although the agony is somewhat unbearable
Weight of dishonesty too heavy to hold
Know without a doubt it does not compare
To torment of watching our romance unfold

The most difficult decision I have ever made
Has been to give up on what I poured time into
Level the skyscraper that took eons to build
Clear unsalvagable wreckage and begin anew

Though all that remains are tiny pieces and dust
Of love we were so proud to call our home
I desperately scramble for answers in the ruins
Mind broken, I relentlessly comb

Looking like a pitiful fool
Witnesses point, scoff loudly, and stare
They don't understand how it feels to lose your heart
Should be embarrassed but I'm far too unaware

Oblivious to disarrayed surroundings
Aching nerves scorch muscles with greif
Any semblance of time long ago flew away
Have been trapped an eternity in a stupor of disbelief

****** sore palms red from scouring sharp sections
Hunting the same oversifted handfuls of our past for a trace
Of intimacy once lacing our brittle tired bones
Is it the feeling or just familiarity I chase?

All I know is functions halt when I'm on my own
Unsure if I can survive without you by my side
Whether its your soul or simply your presence I need
Or something else all together I can't decide

I was not clingy until you carried me on your back
Was not jealous before I discovered your power
One glance leaves head dizzy, drawing in with your charm
Emotions grow wild, stronger by the hour

So I'm stuck here stumbling mumbling incoherently
Staggering zig-zagging directions soaked
Love left me beaten, too ****** up to form a sane thought  
Mental state disturbed by the lies on which I choked

Conscience becoming numb, withdrawn into my shell
Long to close eyes for a semi-permanent sleep
I've not yet felt such emptiness before
An old hole reopens for each promise you failed to keep

Hopefully this will be enough
To secure chains constricting my heart
Lift the veil so my stubborn eyes can see next time
Stop the flood of high-pressure emotions before they can start
How did we get here?
Somehow we came undone
So busy trying to fix you
Didn't see us breaking crumb by crumb
Rose Nov 2018
it hurt when you tried to leave my life,
but make me stay in yours.
it hurt, when you looked at me,
but bit back the words that were suffocating you,
constricting your throat,
dying to rise to the surface
like an anaconda,
slowly but surely tightening its grip on it’s prey, squeezing the life out a being,
i watched in silence, hoping, praying, for the satisfaction of your words, strung simply by the syllables and sounds of this human constructed language.
but what hurt even more was knowing what you had to say,
feeling it
but still,
remaining in silence.
it hurt when i couldn’t be the one to help you, or even more, help you help yourself.
it hurt when your hurt,
hurt me.
when it reflected my own pain,
when it wounded my ego, shattering it once again,
from all the time and effort invested in you.
but this was a different type of hurt.
because you didn’t hurt me. not actually.
I hurt myself.
I hurt myself when i unknowingly stripped my essence of it’s beauty and elegance,
by allowing, yet again,
another fail at “love” to define my being.
I hurt myself when i gave away my power to yet again,
another trial, which ultimately,
does not matter.
so i thank you.
i don’t thank you directly,
but i thank the you from which your actions derive.
i thank the experience, and the feelings in which i felt,
even if they were only negative.
i’ll always be thankful,
because without you,
i wouldn’t have realized that,
i am love.
my sole existence, my very being,
is love.
and at the core, so are you.
because we are one.
and if i am love,
so are you,
and it’s just a matter of time before you realize it too.
adroxxmeda Jan 29
life isn’t fair, darling
i’m sorry you’re upset that it works that way
angry at the world who made you this way
but some things never change
if you want to be accepted fit the mold
break your bones until you fit, constricting your breathing and your body so you match perfectly up with those magazine-curves
i’m sorry, darling
that school is hard
but if you want to be beautiful you skip class, not concealer.
poke yourself in the eyes with eyeliner,
paint your lips the right color
and if your face isn’t the right shape
peel it away
and stuff your chest with tissues to distract away
from your imperfect face
life’s not fair.
go to the mall with your friends,
and if you don’t fit into the clothes don’t eat
keep your mouth shut and bite your tounge
next time you feel hungry.
life’s not fair.
when you cut make sure to only cut your thighs, so you can still wear shorts when you go outside, **** your tummy in always always always.
don’t you like feeling empty?
life’s not fair.
shrug it off
copy ; paste
same problems
same face

life’s not fair.
Eno Feb 24
I need you
To give me a post mortem
Please ***** my rib cage open
Something has died in me
But I feel it sit
In the pit of my chest
Like smoke
The lung tissue
Please relieve me
Everything’s constricting
My airwaves
Like I’m squeezing
Through the neck of a bottle
I’m cold
My fingers are splintered
By minus temperatures
And there’s a jewellery box
Playing somewhere
A ballerina
Dancing around
In front of the mirror
Marissa Jan 30
alone on the floor again
with a razor as my only friend
tracing the outlines of the veins on my arm
like a child’s coloring book
trying to find a calm deep within

my body becomes a canvas
covered in blue, purple, red
a symphony of shades
like a rainbow for the depressed mind

but it is morbid, an inhumane sight
so I have to keep them hidden away
behind barriers of bracelets
and constricting long sleeves
even in the blistering heat

they will never understand how it feels
on the outside it’s destructive and ****
a permanent reminder of the pain
but the chemical rush is a relief
that no amount of opioids could match
so it’s a good high to chase
and a harder habit to kick

dont ******* believe it’s beautiful
like a classical masterpiece or
a heart-wrenching ballad
because if you saw me behind that door
shivering, ***** and lifeless
you would not call it a work of art
but a tragedy

it is an addiction like any other
in all of its **** glory
and it will push people away
and make their stomachs turn
and you’ll be alone
on the floor
currently 9 months clean of self harm, but it will forever be a part of my body

— The End —