Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Evelyn Wilkins Dec 2010
we're line crossers, but we're trying
we've always been line crossers
and i've never not wanted

but, we're line crossers
so it's just better not to draw,
or do, or powder your nose with them, for that matter.
it's just better to wear what momma tells you

i'll leave though, cause i'm trying to grow up
i'll leave cause i remember "one more time in the bathroom"
and how it only used to be okay

and it's hard cause i know i'd do it all anyway
it's hard cause i Used to be interesting,
and interested

but we're line crosses, or we 'were'?
tenses confuse me, only lately
Brandon brown Aug 2013
Alone
That's how I feel very often
Sitting here on my own 
Til the day I'm in my coffin 
Double crossers run they mouth more than water in a faucet
And these ratchet *** hoes only want what's in my pocket 
Foreal 
All these fake *** ****** claiming they yo friend
But in the end everybody know its just pretend 
Unlike the demons that I see in every empty room
And the reasons why the world is stressed from work and shrooms
Every season 50 people on Milwaukee news
Dying cuz they tryna find a way to get around the rules
And it's funny
Well it's really kinda stunning
Cuz they tryna make that money
To see they kids make it out of school
Now ig they'll never see that day. 
Why ?
Cuz they died tryna get paid. 
Wow. 
They lived for the same thing they died for. 
Blood drips and now they the one that millions cry for. 
But last week he was knocking on every single door
Asking for donations for his child and nothing more
But they snickered and lied on they doorstand 
And now they sniffle and cry for this poor man
The three types of people that I mentioned before
Are the same people behind all those knocked doors 
The double crossers were friends that wanted new friends
The ratchet *** was his unsupportive girlfriend
The fake guy
Was every person that cried
When they found out that he died 
But mocked him while he was alive
I don't want those kind of people around me
That's why I claim my loneliness so proudly 
That's why I'm lonely in this world with no poise
Yes I'm alone. But loneliness is my choice.
Traveler Aug 2013
When we were innocent children
In the magic stage of life
We were justified in our victim stance
That drove our need for flight
Now we answer to an inner voices
Call it what you shall
Call it Mother, call it God
Call it the lines which we tread upon
Cross we dare in our hearts despair
Still I pray not to find you there...
Traveler Tim
re to 10-17
Mancy Jan 2019
A crackpot, don't get closer
I thought to myself when I first saw you
Little did the poor me knew
I would end up loving you.
We were living in completely different worlds,
With extremely opposite principles
I denied everything you said, you did
And you were no different
Still I found something comfortable in you
I started telling u all my boring histories
Cussing out the double crossers I have met
Ranting out the regrets of my life
Crying over my first love failure and whatnot
I gave out almost every memory my brain held
You always listened discreetly
To the gibberish coming out of me.
I was able to show the genuine me
Without the fear of being judged,
You saw right through my mind
Like it was a clear glass piece
When it was all dark and dull.
You solved every puzzle of me
Whenever i came with a broken picture.
You came like a summer to me
When my eyes had long rainy days.
I fell sick you nursed me like my mom,
Took wrong turns, you guided me like my dad,
You give advices like my granny,
We sticked together like we were twins,
We fought like we were foes,
You looked after me like a lover.
Now, you have become my crackpot
My family, my love, my fundamental person
Under a single label
My Best friend !!!
Rachel Katerina Jul 2015
Night charges in and Fear tiptoes after
They slither across the floor
And as they crawl into bed with me, I can hear their maniacal laughter.

In my sabotaged subconscious there is no lock on the door,
An open party where the demons dance
And in explicit, intricate agony I attempt to scream “No more! NO MORE!”

The zombies infest, fester, and invade as their decayed, falling-off feet begin to prance
My mouth is gagged and the chains tighten, as horror plays before my eyes
This is no ordinary tragedy – not one soul has a chance

Trust is meaningless and dangerous, the loyal ones are spies
Logic is thrown out – there is neither a beginning nor an end
Time turns and churns, double-crossers criss-cross – lies, lies, LIES!

My power is ripped away, shred by tiny shred
Everything is spiraling out of my control
I silently scream and struggle as Fear forcefully pins me to the bed

I swim through the sea towards consciousness, but He won’t let me go.
Eyes fly open as Fear ties me up with taught ropes, His beautiful disaster
The unbreakable fibers are woven from smoky shadows, and time crawls on far too slow

My heart beats – faster, faster, FASTER!
But the helpless heroine is no more
The shadows slink away and stick to their corners, for Daylight is my master.
We didn't see that one coming,
a curved ball out of nowhere

'there but for the grace...'

but
let's face it
we knew they were titanic tossers
dealing
off the bottom of the deck
*****
low down
double crossers,

doling out
reeling more in
they're getting fat

we're at the thin end
of the wedge
all
hedging bets

let's face it
we run out of words to describe
the lie they use
to justify

just why they abuse.

The greed of them is becoming legendary,
human decency goes by the board while
the board in the boardroom are *******
with my life as if
it is I
that's
the bride and
the longest suffering wife.

well
they can do what they like,
but I don't have to like what they do
and if they're ******' with me they're
sure as hell
******' with you.
nick armbrister May 2018
World Creation

The world wasn't built on fat laziness

But some people are so **** lazy MM

The world wasn't built on false hopes
But some people are fine liars

The world wasn't built on fake cash

But some people are excellent fraudsters

The world wasn't built on blood money

But some people are lethal gangsters

The world wasn't built on unwanted love

But some people are striving companionship

The world wasn't built on secret deals

But some people are blindly forgetting

The world wasn't built on false respect

But some people are double crossers

The world wasn't built on empty words

But some people are very gullible

The world wasn't built on forefather's guilt

But some people are short sighted

The world wasn't built on yellow gold

But some people are simply stupid

The world wasn't built on torrid affairs

But some people are emotionally damaged

The world wasn't built on loaded guns

But some people are always targetted

The world wasn't built on truthful principles

But some people are false gods
The world wasn't built on our wishes

But some people are always blind

The world wasn't built on our reality

But some people are born ******
Ken Pepiton May 26
All my mind in time spent
Thinking in multi-tasking mode, modernized
ontuition, in multicomplexity, chata chabad,

original intention, revealed long ago,
to a trance chance glance of a ox, I knew,
it was no bull.
But had been, as a calf.

*******.
Some old fool I knew,
hollers from the back of my mind…

Historically, part of me assists informing
all the first time crossers of this meandering

mind stream swirling phi in life with pi and x
concepts set to contend, earnestly
for the best gifts, coveted, in trust,

true rest, excusing superstitious sacraments,

all the lies are swallowed in truth, time tells.

A message. An Inspirited shape in forming,
a we, to recollect once knowing an instant true.

An artist, a person gifted with a time spanning
imagination.

An eye, we use, in times of loosed beliefs,
ontuition, intuited as mysterious mystical
as a we. We
have being shared in timesmindspace's
expanded sense of each reader's pace
adapting
breath and bubble, below
common consciousness
sensing sensibilities
adapted to due to normalized
faith in the phraze that declares,
MONEY ANSWERS ALL THINGGGGS

in the infallible preacher's whinings

que sera, sera

the story from the spirit window seen
through to the future when you see
we imagined knowing is repetition,

we imagined many impossible things,
we made them work, mickey mouse,
but, we made things work, to make
old age easier for the beguiled mis-
sionaries, empty vessles, gathered

widow's mighty faith, borrow,
borrow means, to know, how lamps
kept burning, call with smoke,
commas breathe and act as brakes/ lo'
come trim the new knowns from olden
days, now that the curious may fact check

but, as with plain text literacy, the gifted,
the mind that can read and does not,
knows no more than the mind
in movie mode, turbo
memory augments
tuned to reason,
depth charges,
accusing saints,

calling all revelators to prophesy
face to face with Micaiah, and walk on
inspired by his God's permissive will done
bymarching as to war dening the imperative,
loving those who treat you like refuse, biochar

desert stream bringing lithium from old dust,
what was once some kind of star rare as hells.
-------------
non sense. sense.
sems sun sumsymsense when  we accept

let us veliebe, old orders of reformed
societies, gelaubt
after the purge of all who
could not tolerate the truth,

The pilgrim's fled religion,
the missionaries sold religion,
and the money changers set the worth
of knowledge traded for curses lifted,

when old men stop drinkin' stop being
so godamned useless and good

for nothing, free, for free
for nothing but the use
knowing good from bad. from a child,
fed sweet peaches from Canyon de Chelly

-- long ago a hero named Kit Carson
-- led federal troops and local conscripts
or hired hands, squatters on Dene land,
Kit led a rowdy bunch to Canyon de Chelly

to burn a thousand of the sweetest peach trees
ever nourished for centuries on sacred ground.

Kindness of strangers,
old cultural investments, paid ahead,
weight of all the worthy fasts all past,
take no thought for worth in exchange
for the yes, at the judgement bar,
to thy ownself true, are you ready
for your judgement day, bets all in?
worth of an extra six months, at the end

this is declared that bet, let ride… no

money, ecclesiastical hordes, invested
with the wise users of letting information
manifest compounding interest, on a whim,
made this will worship worth reproving,
as a fluid  ide, a thought, breath,
thing in a thought, hooks
an eye a measure, a
0ne part in one floating point
at the recent mean rate of Petaflops
just yoost
enough, particle particulation, you think
this time,
it makes patience sweeter than revenge.

We yoost to call the guy who knew the rules,
now ai know, so we can say we do. too.

This is a good future. We had something like it
propagating between data and metadata price
praise and worship
measure all the effort effectual
as taken for granted to mean  whatever
confusion
persists in believing spells
concentrated into koanic mantras,

spend time or take time
used for nothing more than
slowing knowing too much humm

coming into tune to the ever after
Jesus, or a spokes person, Paul, I think,
sole witness of his own conversion,
according to the authorized story,

let this mind be.
Let this mind be in you.
Letting that which letteth be
taken away,

what can it mean, to
a day dream believer, and
a rodeo queen, at the dawning
of the harvest festival down under.


costs the average adult VBS QUESTERS,

when an instance in doubt, forced yous
to learn we do have multiple CPUs

some of which tuned in to sub conscious
user canals cutting across the esophagus

as we swallow, unsaid protestations,
gulping hesitation, to **** it up and,
clear the are way, to say it is gnosis,

air way, empty abhorred vacuous space
between ose and ic on balancing atomic

ideas developed to help us conceive, ic
internal circuitry to as ist, sein, wir sind,

intentionally conserved kennen und wissen,

in qwerty future scribal service prep,

during the Child Buyer buildup at ARPA net,

Ike's first term,
before under God went in the pledge,
but after Polio was cured, in exchange,

some good, some bad, live and learn,
before the Dulles Brothers,
before solid state quantum foam bubble RAM.

And.
Now.
The original intent. Embodied in a word, as
real as any worded message from beyond you.

Real letters, letting us think,
silly thought that never stink,

sigh, and try to be honest now, smell
the rose or the cheese, ask
which triggers gut reaction,

relaxatation, loosen bowels of mercies,
prayed for under inquisitor's historical,

memories, useful for Memorial Day BBQs

wave the sacred flag representing the lost
intentionally religiously regulated republic,

God, bless America, the dream, the ghost.

True rest, flowing in life's higher will warrings,
appetites and courses cut across experiences,

manifest in out of mind rewindings of things,
math wise, a ruliard is thinkable, as this set,

these words that translate verbatum,
phonetically in webedonspoken spaceless
old cuneiform wet clay repressed
palimpsests lost to EMPs,

in all dystopias.

--------------------

Fretting for another's lack of freedom
to imagine using another's mind, reading

original intention, when the parable,
or analogy allowed in drama spake aloud

to the rabble used to make deme mobs,
we forms of feeling normal, we think alike

until freedom emerges from an over learned
truth, from the bottom of your cache,

depths unplumed introspherical sure selves
set on shelves as crystaline urns, not a few.

see if some
of these be emptied, not a few, emptied
of old lies left allowed told, according
to old oaths taught us in our toddlehood.

What binds us to our oaths?
In truth we slightly smile, saying whatever
in truth being lets us be
we remain free, from fretting overflow.

----------- epithought
this professional whim wrestling is useful:
for rumination under mystical mis perceptions,
for greazing gears gone crusty dis used,
-- legal. garden grown herba consemillia
the dormouse said feed your head.
Slick, Grace.
All my mind in time spent worrying never netted me one extra day, now,
after a heart attack six month's ago I have  all my children and grand children laughing at old hippie stories that prove war is hell. all avoidable, with thought.

— The End —