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Empire Jun 5
Because of my excessive adrenaline
I take it
I shouldn’t feel it
But I do
The calm filling my limbs
Tranquility everywhere
But where are the warnings?
The signs when I go too far?
Which ideas are bad?
I truly can’t tell
I’m slipping
Sedated
Empty
幽玄 Jun 2018
The first sign of a dream approaching is that when you’ve already awoken,
awoken to a strange place with no trace of how you could’ve gotten there.
And the unfamiliar, faces near, with eyes similar to shards– shaded  
you can’t help but notice those feelings emitted were somehow something you’ve come to known before,
but where?
–a notion coursing its way around a soundless observatory only to further dissipation—
A sign of discord covers the room,
all that was allowed is furthest from you,
a parched paper made from what seemed like rugged twine knows nothing but lead between,    you find a face emerging from it,
quickly drawn with detail,
there it stops from motion to undulating surpass,
away from a darkened room up in front of a morning taking.
This conjuring source flairs outward
rising through the outworn canvas
leading it to embers
dancing away along a fizzled plane
for what was despair inscribed in this meaningful dereliction.
To what is empty from emotion is nonexistent,
I couldn’t find the reason to live on,
this dream has died as will I... as will the will of this way this place carries over me.
Yes decay follows me,
unto everywhere will there be the silent breezes to carry me past the concrete terrain into nothingness.
I find myself to live this over,
until the advent of air drowns these lungs to knowing again,
to know exactly what it means to breathe again.
I see no reason for such things as unrealistic as they may seem likely for me to occur in this living.
Again I’m stuck in a room full of my owns thoughts,
such a dangerously sorrowful place to be.
‘For everything as it may have not been
weary am I for looking forward at
The things that never happened’

‘Turning over everyday, repetitively’

Let’s just say that this isn’t personal but for those whom share a common fate. Until overturned.
In its most rawest.
5.3

Parallels:
Snow, for me exemplifies a mute understanding from in juxtaposition with various types of sadnesses that branch off into disparately inclined yearnings, to nostalgic preferences, whether known or not. Why it happens is of course obvious but the way it affects you, makes one wonder, if at all— I think I’m trailing off my train of though here, I’m not sure where this is going..

This was inspired by a remarkable composer, as I recalled a dream before, along with the yearning of trying to expose my underlying expansion of myself with my current understanding of things. what it all could mean as much of his cello’s presence affected me during that process. I’m the gray area that needs deciphering.

—continuations:
the cello that wails the loudest, is one that suffers the most. Even so, every tone encapsulates the listener with resonance. And in that, it reaches its utmost vulnerability, showing the many hues imbedded in an infinite sadness, in an astronomical way, a type of exquisite somber, that resides in the instrument’s hollowness until implementation of procedure.
The blunt surface and wooden *****
Confined within impenetrable walls
However reverb dangerously.
Numbers reappeared to disorientate me.

It was the lion I sought advice from
For a dove that had been travelling with a rose
With a weight as heavy as its wings
Against the torrent of winds and sky.

I counted the time as if I were a clock.
Gently did it leave while I was not looking,
Its music turned down by long fingers
That lightly grazed the glasses
Like tracing back the steps that I at first hastened.

Never again will I see with my lashes curled by  
Its own Evening Dew.
I only pray that the silver soldier marches
Next to me with armor close to my chest
Close to my eyes so no gaze could ever penetrate.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Eryri Jun 10
Memories compressed under a thin sheet of glass,
A camera first and telephone last.
My laughter, my pride and my joy it stores,
Joylessly sealed in a metal and glass sandwich.
But this little device taking over my life,
Has one disadvantage:
A finite memory full to bursting,
As it warns me it's 'Dangerously Low on Space'.
Frank Russell Apr 2018
Because we are earth.
Because we are not here
And nature over there.
Because it is a dysfunctional mental habit
To conceive of ourselves as separate
From the flowing energy of the planet
- the air, water and nourishment -
That we transmute to our own energy.
Because we set aside a day to recall
How dangerously mistaken it is
To treat as a lowly inexhaustible slave
One that is both single-minded parent
   and sustaining comrade,
Worthy of love and respect.



- fr
lirau May 2017
the lake is rippling
like worn blankets covering the water
ebbing
dangerously close to the boardwalk's edge.

I turn and walk away,
my back yearns for the vast open lake
as if it were a sea I could lose myself in
instead I am lost to the city.
Laura Labno May 2
You approach them dangerously close

A voice whispered 


Beasts caged in an imitation of

Freedom


You stretch your hands trying to touch

the colors of their words


The sophistication of their mouth

Which turns lights into sounds 


And makes an empty page alive  

With endless laughs and cries


You approach them dangerously close

A voice hissed


Beasts caged in an imitation of 

Freedom


Immersing yourself in their hidden 

Cries 


While Night falls from the skies 

capturing Stars Into its Hands


Now there will be no light 

Only Their Eyes


You approached them too close

Now You Won't Come Back


So that's all you will have 

for the rest of your life



(You were born into that)


A voice gently whispered.
mila splawska Jun 16
and all you’d tell me was that you loved me and that i better not let anyone tell me any different
and then suddenly your hands were cold, your expression dangerously indifferent
and when i finally tore your fingers from your palm
i saw the blood and the blade and a note labeled
at least now im
calm
Luz Hanaii Jan 10
Culture escape, indoctrination by social media,
misguided emotions, make a quest for fun and thrills,
looks for love in beautiful packages, adorned with sparkly fool's gold, smiles that charm.  Assessing that outer beauty means no harm.

Expanding the ego, taking irrational chances for ***** and giggles;
a selfie at the end of a ravine, going to bed with a stranger, drinking till you can't drink no more, playing Russian roulette, dared, dared, dared.

Living life with a bang, outer display of choreographed illusions.
Lacking common sense, casting aside warnings, concerned advice...
"Living it up, you only live once, do it all, enjoy it while you can, numb your senses, take chances..."  

Those where the ways of many who no longer walk the earth.
Victims of culture escape, the world happened to them,
they never walked awake.

Cheers! to those who put stock in living dangerously,
who believed the fantasy, who never made it to second base.
To those who lived dangerously, took foolish chances and finally
lost their game.
For some there's a fine line between adventure and foolishness.
But only you can determine that.
Andrew Jul 2017
After all that time hope chasin'
I stumbled on a man named Mason
A man at heart but not in years
Love in my mind and in my tears
When we can't be together
For what seems like forever

Temptation when he tells me it's legal
But everybody would think I was evil
And laws become smudged
When everyone's a judge
Through the mud I trudge
On this path to nowhere and ask why
I can see happiness form in their eyes
When my walls begin to crumble
Because my Mason has disappeared

I live in the world
That makes me ashamed to feel love
And love to feel ashamed
There are asteroids floating in space
As I float dangerously in place
Before one hits my planet
I'd like to find someone that understands me completely
But the dust particles float around my cell
Sticking to my skin
Like tiny meteors constantly impacting me
I sink into the craters created
When my heart was cremated
The others were elated
When my love was traded
For a world with people I could talk with
I walk in a world with no one to walk with
michelle reicks Aug 2013
lately I have come dangerously close to contacting you
so i will write this,
in hopes that you will not read it.
I simply need to write to you,
because i feel as though my heart is imploding on itself.

so first thing is first.
I miss you.
I miss you every day.
At first, I had this feeling of missing a relationship.
I had soft memories of you,
memories of making love with someone that cared
memories of your body next to mine
but lately,
the memories have become clear and crisp
i no longer miss being in a relationship
I just miss you.
I have put those feelings through a strainer and kept the ones that make the most sense.
so now, i can't stop thinking about you.
everything reminds me of you.
I made asparagus for my parents the other day.
it made me think of you.
I drank some Mike's the other day.
Made me think of you.
I swear that every time I go into the hallway of my building, Chicago is playing on the loudspeakers.
It only reminds me of you.
And then there is everyone I ever cared about from Mankato.
Everyone reminds me of you.
And when I say "reminds", I mean that they all bring back vivid memories of us.
Of times that we were really happy.
And I miss us being happy.

I want to call you.
I want to hear your voice.
I want some sort of reassurance that you are out there.

But I know I can't.
And even if I did,
nothing good would come of it.
I would tell you that I miss you.
I would cry.
I would tell you that I love you.
I would cry harder.
And I would be secretly happy if you said that you were miserable in Texas.
I want you to be miserable without me
because I am miserable here without you.

I have progressed past the point where I normally would rebound
into someone else's arms.
I am strong.

And yet,

I feel so ******* weak



Anyway,
I've been doing okay.
I've been trying really hard to get out and meet people so I'm not lonely all the time.
I've made some new friends here in the cities.
I wish you could meet them.
I wish I could meet your friends in Texas.

I am turning 21 soon.
Really soon, actually.
Everyone keeps asking me what I want for my birthday.

I don't really know what to tell them
because there's only one thing
I want
but it's the one thing I can't have

just  a phone call.
just one call.

just to say "hi"
how are you
how is texas
i miss you
did you read my poem
thank you, yes i had a good birthday.
it would have been better with you here.
i wrote you another song
i got another job
i'm transferring schools
how is your family
how does your brother like college

i miss you
i wish you were here
i love you
yeah
talk to you later


I'm sorry for writing all this down.
I think I need some sort of closure that I still am not getting.
I am still holding onto some sort of hope

Hope for what? I'm not quite sure.
Mostly that you still care about me
and that you miss me as much as I miss you

because I've never had to "get over" anyone before
and everyone told me how hard it would be

but I didn't think I would wake up every morning and burst into tears
I didn't think that letting go
would take this long

I am, however, so happy that I am still single
REALLY single.

not dating anyone
not interested in anyone.

I wonder if you are too.
and if you are,
if it's because you miss me.

or if you just haven't found anyone that you like yet.

I realized pretty ******* quick
that you set my bar really high.
and it will be really hard for someone to meet all the standards you helped me create for myself.

my family is doing okay.
I got rear-ended a couple of weeks ago.
so we got a new car.
It's a white two-door honda.
i can't believe how sad it makes me,
because it looks so much like your car.
my dad hasn't been doing very well.
sometimes i feel like he doesn't want me around.
i feel like he wants me to just move out and get an apartment,
but i'm not able to right now. not financially.
but i feel a lot of self-shame
because i "moved back home".
my mom has started crocheting.
so she has made like 6 different hats, and a bag for me.
both of my parents have kind of laid off of me, in terms of religion.
They kinda let me do my own thing and have stopped trying to convert me.
Has your situation with your folks gotten any better?

Did you hear about the passing of *** marriage in minnesota?
of course you have.
august 1st was such a day of celebration.
I wish i could have taken you down to the courthouse in the capital to watch all the weddings happen.
it would have been so much fun.

i guess i'll wrap this letter up.
I know it's probably silly to write it because you said you would stop checking this website.
but, if you're anything like me, you check it anyway.
sometimes i un-block you on facebook just to look at your pictures.
you are still just as handsome as ever.
and once a week, at LEAST,
I check your university's website to see if they have a "staff profile" of you up yet.

So far no luck.

In the past two months,
I have let myself make a lot of mistakes.

But on the other hand,
nothing has changed how I feel about you.

I miss you and I care about you.



Don't take this the wrong way
but I love you.

don't call me.
I need to keep on keeping on.
I just needed to get this all off of my chest

maybe tonight
i'll be able to fall asleep without keeping myself awake crying.

-michelle
CryBaby Di Nov 2018
The day will come that you find yourself stepping in that big unavoidable pile of **** that is completely made of the huge mess that you yourself have made.
I know when you finally do that it will haunt your dark black soul forever.
So keep flushing your meds down the toilet I guess you're right,
you don't need them.
You are someone who can't
possibly be saved,
because you don't want to be saved.

You can't turn back the hands of time,
or take back the hands in which you laid upon me to harm and cause me pain.
It's far too late.
You can't uncross the ultimate line in which you crossed with me.
Point those filthy fingers of yours towards the mirror right back at your own reflection when you're searching for someone
to blame, you've chosen your own
twisted fate.

I'll never be your's again baby girl.
Not to wrap your arms around to hold,
not to catch you all the times you fall,
not to talk you off the ledge that you so dangerously dance with death upon.
I will never again be any part of your ****** up world.

My shoulder will never again be the shoulder that bears all of your fallen
salty bitter tears.
Listening to all of your depicted fears and each and every one of your own self made problems will never again be either of my ears.

I do hope that there is some sort of help you one day find.
I just won't be the one who's there for you when everyone else leaves you behind.

I do hope that you find a way to keep your head above the waves and remain afloat.
I just won't be the one who jumps in to save you when your drowning and
pull you up onto my life boat.

I really do hope that one of the many days you are feeling helpless that you somehow find the strength to not resort to picking up a razor, pressing it against your skin  and making yourself bleed.
Because seriously I'm sorry but,
I won't be the one who's there to
interfere or to bandage up your self inflicted wounds.
Because I won't be there ever again,
so not even in your time of need.

I so badly do hope that you one day find the type of love that you need to find
within yourself.
I just won't be there to love you anymore myself.
Don't panic at all
Don't bother at all
What if the buildings are
Damaged dangerously?

What if all the walls
Are full of cracks
Things can be easily controlled
And you have enough money

So don't panic at all
Don't bother at all
Use your money with caution
Apply your mind, use your money

Get all the walls painted
With very nice painting
Paintings of the folks
Paintings of the modern era

Paintings of saints and heroes
Painting of beautiful landscapes
Raise slogans here and there
Unfurl flags and sing the anthem

What if the rivers are di*ty?
Only raise awareness campaigns
Put hoardings and banners everywhere
Do nothing else, but show everything

Just adopt these cheap tactics
You can save lot of wealth
And can spent on yourself
Or can buy more votes with it

Paint the bark of all the trees
Break all the records of shame
Create a new fake history
Make silly new records

What if there is poverty
Just make monuments for god
And ask people to pray there
God is there to listen the prayer

What if there is unemployment
Ask your businessmen friends
To start training centres and train the youth
And make money, money and money

Leave the trained youth as they were
Ask them to create employment for self
Call it self-employment, call it freedom
Ask them to rejoice this freedom

Open new schools and colleges
But don't appoint staff in teachers
Collect hefty amount of fees
Spent that fees on yourself

Also spent some to collect votes
Manage the peoples
Manage the machines
Manage history, manage geography

Manage the media, manage the news
Spread everywhere, fake news
If you do, what I have said
You will be the king again
Sure Shot and Short Formula to become King Again and Again
SG Rose Jul 2018
Her body moved towards me
with grace and fury.
The gusts of her legs
and fingertips swirled
dangerously around my
hips and heart as I sat
breathlessly watching her squall
destroy all the walls
I have built.

It's a risky game to be a storm chaser,
but it's a devastating liaison to
love a tornado.
From Yidhna Yue Xing ****:
Date written: October 2, 2019

Are you ever paranoid that you are not as original as you are expected to be?

Are you ever afraid you've unconsciously been a thief of words?
Well, don't.

As per Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"

As a creative, it was perhaps the most important message shown to me. 
And just a few years later it seems to have been dangerously forgotten.

I used to be fearless, taking my inspiration from anything, anything, and felt so free and inspired.

And now I've observed an obsession, not just within me, but within more and more people, that's been killing creativity.
We are becoming afraid of words, afraid of being a collective, and would rather be silent and isolated.

And

Are you tormented by the desperate need to be a good person, a pure soul?

Tortured by an unchangeable past, afraid that it will never be forgotten and be replaced by an acknowledgement of growth.

Well, 
Never chase the poisonous perfection
That always takes more than it gives
Never rid of all the shadows of sin
And be found by the wrath of guilt

And

Don't renounce your past 
But accept it with pride, 
Lest you be judged for what you have done, 
And never
What you could, would, and will do!


Alas,
We are becoming cultural germaphobes
Eliminating every potentially negative thing

We are becoming sheltered perfect roses 
Under glass domes too overprotecting

Monocultures and biodiversity
If we don't build our immunity
How are we to survive 
How are we to fight the blight 
of
Time

Don't ever ever be afraid to caress another's soul, fearing you'll take part of them with you. 

It's how you grow,
into giants the height of stars.



And as an afterthought, an excerpt from a letter to a poet friend, Lawrence Hall:

I read some Gogol among others for that one class I was attending, I was so pleasantly surprised to find some of my deepest sentiments and psychological experiences, that I think I may have expressed it myself in fewer words, so exact, and perfectly presented on pages I have never read before.

Like one of the other classmates said, these experiences are far more universal than we give them credit to be.

The greatest works of art are supposed to be so universal and familiar to the human condition that would sometimes seem like, to different people, they have written it, composed it, painted it, etc.

Now, this greatest character of art is being condemned.
We are not all thieves, we are just not that different. We are all one soul dreaming the same human dream.





Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
"Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters"
Rusty Cage:
"The Truth about my Stolen Music"
Some parts of this letter are from my poems: "My Love" "The Echo" and "The Blight of Time"

Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters
Rusty Cage:
The Truth about my Stolen Music
erwood Jul 2018
"Careful, it burns." you warn
And you tell anyone who will listen
You post on the news and shout to the world
Of the flames that dangerously glisten

"Careful, there's fire." you cry
And you tell everyone to watch out
Because once the fire starts
All around you are screams and shouts

"Careful." you say "Careful." you caution
But you don't do anything about the flames
You throw water balloons in futile attempts
You think this forest fire's simply a game

"Careful!" you scream. "Careful, it's urgent!"
But no one hears you anymore
Because you're the one who started the fire
And no one sides with the wager of war

You tell me to be careful
And keep the lighter locked inside
But then you dump a gallon of kerosene
And look on at the flames with pride
evie marie Oct 2018
I am not a pretty girl. Never have been. I’m a little rough around the edges, I speak too loudly, and I cry when I’m angry. I tried, you know, to be less volatile, less opinionated, less of anything. Whittled myself away until I was nothing but a wisp of a girl, complicit in my own destruction.

I lost myself somewhere between the ages of 13 and 15. Somehow, a quiet sadness had seeped into my skin until it was unbearable- an obesity of grief. But here’s the thing: I was not a tear-stained girl romanticizing the idea of pain. I was angry. And cold. And mean.

But then I found myself one morning after it had rained. Quietly, without waking my family, I slipped into the cool morning air. I danced in the rain, the grass under my feet and the morning sun warming my face felt new, exciting, and it was all mine. I found myself in sips of earl grey tea, a book on my lap, devouring the words as if they were a life raft on a tumultuous sea. I found myself while watching the sunrise on a foggy beach. It was beautiful the next day, too, and I pulled a rusty bike from the garage, and thought to myself, “I’m going to be alright.” Because I found myself on a run in the pouring rain, the sweat and aching lungs reminding me of my own mortality. I found myself in the quiet, shy smiles of strangers in coffee shops and curious children. I found myself while driving dangerously fast on the highway in the middle of the night. Laughter escaping my mouth as the lights of the city flew by. I have laughed and cried and sang and danced and all of it is because I found myself after hiding for so long. I found myself because I finally had the guts to scream “hello, world. I’m here.” I grabbed life like a face between my palms, and I said “yes, I will love you again.” It’s not a charming face, nor a beautiful smile. But yes, I will love you again.
Daniel T Dec 2018
I just wanted to love someone
so much -
That I never learned to like anyone

She was dangerously close
like a molotov
to a dream.
The crease in her smile
From when she carried it closed
Or maybe from when
The one that last carried it for her.

There's a thorn in her paw;
That is a crucifix in her theart
and keeps her nailed to the pain.
It's a cross
between the love she has
for everyone
but herself,
and the hatred for me.
And I like it.
All of it.

Still though, I dream that she's in my bed
looking sweete than her taste for revenge,
it's 5 PM and she isn't wearing much
but she's in my bed, saying the things
that I need to hear,
which is just about anything at this point.

It's 8:30 pm, and I get my wake up call
and out the door I go, in my headphones go
the first thing I hear is Ed Sheeran
I hate that I enjoy his voice
because he's always ******* right
and he tells me "baby you look happier, you do"
well ****.
"my friends told me, one day I'll feel it too"
and now I need a shot because ****.
I really was happier with her.

7:15 in the morning
Don Quixote sits against my wall
I can't really hear his voice
but he says that it ain't right
to fight a windmill and lose.

and then he tells me
it ain't right for me and her
to be all we've ever been.

All I make is mistakes
I see them too, but it's always too late.
It's all I know how to do.
I know there's something wrong,
hence why I'm drunk when I write.
Sometimes I couldn't blink
or take a breath during those conversations.

There's so much I'm uncertain about
...so many questions
I'll never ask, again
I used to ask a lot, for someone.
not anymore.
not since i couldn't explain
what I couldn't explore.
but that thorn is still in her paw.
I wish I could've removed it.
Layne b Dec 2018
Look at me dangerously
with those mocha eyes
Still brewing
slow
steeping
you're hypnotizing
That daring cocoa butter stare
Sweet and deep with
secret bitter twists
Smokey and honey filled
you made my cup half full
on days it felt so empty
Sipping on your lips feels so
soul awakening
Yenson Oct 2018
Criminal Gang Stalking

Definition:

The crimes committed through gang stalking an individual are covertly done, hence little in evidence is left behind of the crime, and the target is left with little in the way of resources to defend him or herself.

Isolation, through disrupting socio-familial ties in an intense slander campaign, is usually achieved once the actual stalking begins.

A pervasive slandering campaign takes place, projecting the target as an unstable individual, child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, or a person prone to psychopathic behavior.

The criminals planning a gang stalking endeavor study the target long before the stalking begins. Psychological profiling is done, and this is to assist in the overall campaign that includes intense psychological harassments and demoralizations. Tactics used go well beyond fear, demoralization and psychological harassment.

The tactics used have been the protocol in campaigns against common people implemented by the KGB in Soviet Russia, Nazis of **** Germany, and the KKK in the early to middle of last century in America.

The accumulation of all the tactics and events in this dangerously hurtful organized crime against an innocent human being can led to trauma and will emotionally bankrupt the targeted individual, and may lead to death, as suicide is often induced through the assaults. The perpetrators of gang stalking are serious criminals who do great damage, and the acts done are very serious crimes by any measure.

Gang Stalking is a highly criminal campaign, one directed at a target individual, and one that aims to destroy an innocent person’s life through covert harassments, malicious slander and carefully crafted and executed psychological assaults.

Gang Stalking deprives the targeted individual of their basic constitutional rights and destroys their freedom, setting a stage for the destruction of a person, socially, mental and physical, through a ceaseless assault that pervades all areas of a person’s life.

What drives such campaigns may be revenge for whistle blowing, or for highly critical individuals, as outspoken people have become targets. Other reasons why a person may become a target individual for stalking: ex-spouse revenge, criminal hate campaigns, politics, and racism.

Gang Stalking may be part of a larger phenomena that may have loose threads that extent into a number of differing entities, such as government, military, and large corporations, though it is certain that organized crime is one of gang’s stalking primary sources, or origins.

The goals of Gang Stalking are many. To cause the target to appear unstable mentally is one, and this is achieved through a carefully detailed assault using advanced psychological harassment techniques, and a variety of other tactics that are the usual protocol for gang stalking, such as street theater, mobbing, pervasive petty disrespecting.

Targets experience the following :

A total invasion of privacy
Pervasive and horrific slander
Isolation through alienation that is caused by the slander. 4.Destruction of, or alienation from all things that the target holds dear.
Ground Work: A discrediting campaign is initiated long before the target is actually stalked. They, the criminal perpetrators, twist and fabricate reality through such a campaign, displaying lies that paint the target as a child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, an highly unstable individual who may be a threat to society, a *******, or a longtime drug user, etc.

The slandering or discrediting campaign sets the stage for the target to become alienated in just about every social-familial- work environment, once the actual stalking begins. This slandering campaign is instrumental in eliminating all resource and avenue of defense for the target, before the actual stalking begins.

This stage is one that sees people close to the target, family, friends, neighbors, and co-workers recruited by the perpetrator criminals, who will pose as law enforcement officials, private investigators, or a groups of concerned citizens.

The Gang Stalking is aimed at achieving one or all of the follow:

induced suicide
financial devastation
homelessness
institutionalization in psyche wards
Once actual Stalking begins: The target will endure a vast array of tactics: gas lighting, street theater, drugging, gassings, scent harassment, mobbing, subtle but frequent destruction of property, killing of pets

Psychological profiling will be done so as to initiate an intense psychological harassment assault. Staged happenings and planned or directed conversations will take place around the target in public or places of work, and serves not only to undermine the targets psychology, but also may be used to cause the target to thinking that he or she is under investigation for horrific crimes.

Stalkers will have studied the target to such a level that they know and can predict the person’s behavior. Again, often the target will think that they are being investigated for crimes that would be absurd for the target to have actually committed. Not knowing what actually is happening, the target is isolated and lives through a never ending living nightmare.

Once the target finds out that they are a target individual for gang stalking, or multi stalking, they may have some relief, but from what I have read, the stalking simply changes dimensions a bit, and continues.

Identifying the exact people who initiated gang stalking campaigns is difficult, or near impossible, and this makes it very difficult for people researching this phenomena to discover, in certainty, the roots and genealogy of the crime. Investigation of a “Gang Stalking” crime would require a great deal of resources, and intensity similar to ****** investigations.
WHAT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW....THIS IS THE TRUTH.

Background information, please read 'Where Is Justice' by same author on this site.
This horrendous situation is happening in our Great civilised Nation,
Akira Chinen Aug 2018
I start to write into a
puddle of metaphors
meant to be a love poem
and as I write down
the word love
for the thousandth
of the thousandth time

I accidentally misspell it...

...with the letters
of your name...

and I know visually
that it looks wrong on paper
but when I hear it in my head
it sounds right
and now I can’t quite remember
any other way to spell it

and thats not really the worst of it
because I’m really just rewriting
the same poem over and over again
somehow hoping that rearranging
the letters and the words
will somehow align the stars in heaven
causing my heartbeat to sync with yours
and somehow you will just know how I feel
and I won’t have to stutter
and stammer and choke on the words

because every time
you’re are sitting across from me
or standing anywhere near me
or being anywhere out there
in the world breathing
while just being you
causes my mouth and my hands
and my body
and the whole world around me
to tremble
as I begin
to feel so dangerously close
to not feeling so alone

and alone is a thing
I have grown to be
incredibly comfortably with
alone is a safe heaven
of quite and peaceful solitude
where pain is a thing
easily stitched away
inside secret pockets
of regret
that nobody knows about

alone is something that has
become the best friend
my heart has ever known
a secret companion
no one can steal away from me
the person that knows everything
about me that is too embarrassing
or strange
or heartbreaking to talk about

it knows things that
I don’t even know about myself

I am sure that I am
about to be swallowed
by some armageddon level event
and be forgotten by history
because this isn’t the kind of story
that i get to be a part of
except for the character
that no one notices
so there is no need to remember
who I was
or how when I thought
I misspelled the word love
with the letters of your name
was the first
and only  time
I ever actually got it right
Graff1980 Nov 2018
The grass is wet and warm
from last night’s storm,
dangerously slick
but there are certain spots
where my heel still sticks.

Places where it
takes a little effort
to free myself.

There are vines
of people and time
that intertwine
with my intentions,
sometimes for the better
other times
for stuff
I'd rather not mention.

But no matter
when or where I am
there is always
something pulling,
deep and urging
like the tides
that are calling
my sea body
back to salt water.

I try to stay,
talk and play
with those I love
but there is just
something
that makes me
need to be
moving
even though
it might be
extremely lonely.
Ylang Ylang Jul 2018
I'm a cold stranger,
a wild animal.
A silent guest
standing in rain,
on a concrete pavement
     of the capital
A passive observer
with a golden interior,
thrown on this strange shore


Voices & noises all
        around
Stares like raindrops
on the sparrow's feather

A silent wanderer
in this far country
    where I don't belong

My soul bends dangerously
at sight of smiles
         it gets crushed &
                                crumbled
by sounds of the world


Gold bleeds on gray concrete
A shot in the skull -
        brief
        Loud moment
    Meat lies dead
And bursts of colours,
      flocks of
  birds, flowers & herbs,
  exotic scents fly out
  of the head
      or cage
Lily Feb 22
“Mommy, why is the moon running away from us?”

A sigh from the front seat,
The wheels bouncing on the Michigan potholes.

“Honey, it’s not running away, it just appears to move with us.”

A moment of silence, except for the soft hum of the engine.

“But why, Mommy?”

A slight groan from the front seat as a speeding car passes.

“I don’t know, our eyes are just messed up, I guess.”

Bouncing pigtails from the toddler car seat, humming her song.

“Mommy, are we almost there?  I’m scared that the moon will catch up with us.”

“I thought we were chasing the moon.”

“But now it looks like it’s chasing us.”

Trembling hands grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white.

“I’m excited to see Daddy.  Are you, Mommy?”

“Don’t call him that.”

Her voice was dangerously low, almost the same pitch as the hum of the road.

More pigtail bouncing.

“But he is my dad, right?”

Pursed lips and clenched teeth.

“Yes.  Just try to be nice.”

“Are you talking to yourself, Mommy?”

Attention taken from the road, eyes wandering up to the moon.

“Mommy, why are we running away from the moon again?”

A sigh from the front seat,
The wheels bouncing on the Michigan potholes.

“I don’t know, we’re all just messed up, I guess.”
SamanthaX Jun 11
1.30.

Locked away
in my harem
My sinister bedroom
Of lost lonely souls
Burning my holy wood
Waiting for the call
from My Man
in Hollywood

Forbidden miracles
Outlaws and sinners
Excepting holy trades
Prayers to justify
my evil ways

I’m smoking the
finest of *****
Imported from
the diamond
projects
My Man
He smuggled
it in

Oh now look
what he did
He tied me up
in lace
He made me
scream
He made me beg
Then on my
knees
He made me say

“Please
  I need one
  last kiss
  so I don’t fall
  from my Grace”

Your eyes
I once needed
like ******
Now bite me
like a venomous
snake
I tried to find
a cure in someone
else but they
****** out
my soul and
told me I was
healed

These Grey
mistakes
I make

Will eventually
make me famous
Temporarily outrageous
My etiquette is
dangerously contagious

On the front page
On every News paper
The headlines will
be saying

That girl is
Extra, Extra!
Read all about it!

These are the
questions to ask
when God’s become
reincarnated
Pau May 25
what do i call you?
you were between a lover and a friend.
you called me a potential
and it was foolish of me to think,
it amounted to anything.
maybe that is the exact moment where everything convoluted.
everything got twisted in my mind,
and i believed, dangerously,
for more than a split second,
you wanted to be mine.
#c
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
"C'EST PRESQU'AU BOUT DU MONDE..."
( IT WAS ALMOST TO THE END OF THE WORLD )

She believed that
deep deep inside her

the flame of a femme fatale
burned brightly.

Could imagine herself stepping out of
some classic Film Noir.

Cultivated herself
to look like Maire Windsor

opposite the dangerously gorgeous
John Garfield.

But her life it seemed had her
stepping into an Edward Hopper.

The isolation and the paint
still wet.

The lonely lady
glimpsed in an hotel window

from a passing train
autumnal rain.

Still she acted always as if
she was in her own movie

walking around  her tiny flat
naked

except for red stilettos
red earrings...red lipstick.

Making up her own snappy lines
to some imaginary leading man.

"Are you decent?"
"Yes""

"But you're....you're naked!"
"You only asked if I was decent!"

The mirror laughed
catching the reflection of who

she could have been
given half the chance.

She never
stood a chance.

She threw a cigarette up in the air
caught it between her lips

her one and only
party trick.

Lit or unlit.
Searching for middle C

on a battered piano
her mind off key

abandoning it
the piano's yellow smile.

She watched the sunlight
carve a block of time

out of the dividing wall.
fading the wallpaper roses.

The bed that was always
empty...always unmade.

She danced to Weil's
Youkali Tango.

Put it on again...again.
Scratching an already scratched record.

The needle gathering fluff.
The porcelain milkmaid...dust.

She disliked the way sweat
gathered under her *******.

They were always a little too large.
Hated men staring so hard.

Ahhhh the faded romance
a sunset heart attack.

Couldn't have wrote
herself a better script.

Staggering in her dance
gasping that all too unsubstantial

air as if trying to
catch time

the presentpastfuture
falling out of her hand.

The wooden acorn
of the tattered blind

tapping against
the ***** window pane.

Neon going green.
Then red.

Now blue.
And then green again.
Graff1980 Nov 2018
Aint' it a shame
I hear them complain
as clouds of smoke
circle their faces.

Tight jacket teens
glare at me
dangerously.

Tallest of the bunch
growls angrily,
"stop looking at me
puke face."

I turn away
but not fast enough
cause mister
tough stuff
has something more
in mind you see.

Stomping over all
indignantly,
he yells
"Hey,
you ignoring me?"

I try to move
faster than him,
but a shove in my back
makes it clear
this is a race
I won't win.

So, I face him.
Two years older,
might as well be
twenty-three
to my early teens.

He pushes me
back up against a tree,
then goes in to punch
me in the face,
but my face
does not remain
in that unsafe place.
So, he hits the tree.

Cursing loudly
with a mangled hand
slows him down,
but doesn't stop his friends.
They follow me
down the street
and beat me till
I am out of wind.

This is were
this poem ends.
There is no
sweet revenge.
Time goes on.
I don't see them again,
and this becomes something
distorted and fictionalized
in these poetic lines.
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