"cryptogram" poems
I sleep in pitch black rooms and wait
for candles to light themselves
Thoughts the same shade of dark.
Counting sheep as they hop into slaughter houses of gluttonous, avaricious men who trade their humanity for pocket change.
While satans minions work with circumspectivness to reap what their slave-like bourgeois have sewn living with a motto of
Yesterday is history tomorrow is a mystery
In the Meantime fribble prodigal sons of the privileged ponder their inheritance
While the daughter of a currier burns her fathers letters because something's are best left unknown
and the candles remain unlit.
But beauteous animals still roam free in the wild,
little kids still smile.
There's hope in the heart of each child.
Sitting in seclusion and coming to Ambiguous conclusions is always productive
So When did the key to success become failure?
when wasn't it?
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Independence and autonomy are subjugated by the transnational bourgeoise; and a colorful Mediterranean cuisine is not dissimilar to the Machiavellian arrays of contemporary propaganda.
Therein lurks a traumatic bonding from the origins of Stockholm, which is characterised by a cryptogram of questionable empathy.
It truly is a lucrative business, oh hamster on the wheel of dissociative conformity. Have a consultation appointment with Salvatore Lucania of La Cosa Nostra.
We are boiling in a fascinating and central superintendence. Therefore, my weary and ego-dystonic figment of contemporary virtual relationship: Do not express allegiance to your captor.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
steeply angled eyes
supported by hollow cheeks
stare from a semi-circular mirror
with a dark consequence of outrage
like a constricted sunrise
that appears to float
a pictorial cryptogram
defying a resisted
notation of gravity
they are eyes that
momentarily fascinate
then frighten
for you can see yourself
falling through a deep hole
in their vision
causing a complete
dissociation of identity
steeply angled eyes
are watching, watching,
watching.....................
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
Distance, the sole aim,
Far away from anyone she ever knew
Some sugar, some spice
Some difference
Something erratic and unpredictable
Unseen to her eyes, unheard of to her ears,
A newness, to contrast the
Monotony that is routine.
Perhaps a thrill of people actually
Missing her presence,
Couple with an anonymity,
An emancipation from having to
Conform
To the rules of where she belonged.
The runaway face of a vagabond,
Searching, searching for somewhere
To trash the label that
People had already plastered to her identity.
Masked under a smile,
Prepared to be whoever she wanted
To be;
Finally fulfilling dreams
That were otherwise shackled
By chains of her own ipseity,
By words she never said
But were quoted as hers anyways.
The runaway face of a stranger now,
Tasting tears that those who loved her
Would shed in her memory.
She revelled in this finality,
This realisation that hit them now
That she was gone.
As though a hidden price tag had been revealed
As though a number had just been scanned from a
Barcode,
For her real worth hadn’t been comprehended
By those who saw the bars of the cryptogram
As mere lines
Of varying width (moods),
Wholly existing amidst
The conventional, yet strangely unattainable
Black and white
That was her, and her alone,
But had now morphed
As distinct colours of a
Different kind of light into
The runaway face of a lone victor.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
I'm constantly checking Snapchat and Instagram, and instantly decoding your posts like a cryptogram. In a millisecond my brain goes from using a gig of ram, to oozing out ten petabytes, like God ****
It won't slow down and I'm trying to stay chill, so I gotta down another bottle of pills. This also helps with the hunger that I'm trying to fill, going from starved, to full, to just feeling ill.
Nauseating dizzying feeling and I'm flustered, populating my stomach with crackers dipped in mustard, I don't like food, but I've started to wonder why my ribs hurt, might be the undying hunger.
I can't pull my eyes away from it as I slit upon my thighs and think of a beautiful ***** I'll never get, so I get lost in distractions to forget her. I've come to accept that this is the truth as I accept the cold and give her my sweater. Attempted controlled suicide at a park plus the letter. If she goes in for anything then I guess I will let her. But every time she touches me it lights a fuse that only activates when she's not around, only clutches me closely when there's nobody else in the vicinity inbound making me feel deader.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
We’re all born in the same place
Ourselves
And we all run the same race
To hell
Born into a world already turning
My feet start urgently burning
Before my brain begins churning
I ignore what I’m learning
For my movement yearning
Now that I’m of a reactionary fashion
It’s time for social interaction
I’m told to pick a faction
That’ll be my infallible bastion
I’ll defend with blind passion
My need to know more
Brought the conquistador
Who had the keys to my door
With no reason implored
He beat me to the floor
He comes from society
To check my propriety
Conquering through anxiety
Or straight up fighting me
Until the pain starts piling
From his constant defiling
I’ve made a million mistakes
So I don’t deserve any breaks
But all he does is take
Everything at stake
My life he shakes
To make me fake
Through the storm
He screams conform
Until my soul is torn
After I adorn
His demon horns
I adopted his impersonal sensation
So to avoid my temptations
I commit self immolation
For the hellish integration
Of society’s placation
But he keeps demanding more
He keeps demanding war
And me to be ******
Until I’m not sure
If I can be cured
Or even endure
When they obscure
The path of the pure
With their malice lure
The safety of sedating
Keeps me from hating
So life becomes waiting
Avoiding their blading
And incision trading
Which is why I’m delaying
And the conquistador is staying
I can’t wake up
After I ate up
The tryptophan
Cryptogram
Sold to man
Turning ******
On the lamb
From the sham
Of Uncle Sam
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
Do I capitalize the g in God?
I guess my answer is self evident
I don't think I need to dot my i's
To receive God's love
But he also wants me to mind my p's and q's
So I can know His word
And understand His scripture
But society's an encryptor
Feeding me tryptophan
Until this cryptogram
Leaves me ******
By turning the Bible into a crossword puzzle
My only chance to prosper is muddled
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 5:00 PM UTC