"deadening" poems
Gendering Woman *******
Beautiful, anatomical part // Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable // Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic // Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT HEALTHY
fearful, tearful, wretched // joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving // embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss // believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h r e - b i r t h
BI-LATERAL
MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre
SURGEON ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel // doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue // hypotension
loss/ damage // shock
drains // sinus rhythm
stitches // pain deadening
tight binding // reversal drugs
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e a w a k e
draining, bound & stitched draining, bound & stitched
DRAINED
~ UNBOUND
-- UNSTITCHED –
Empty chest Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease FREEDOM from Dis-ease
© M.L.Emmett
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
In my little-boy town up north
rivers were not yet plugged.
Poled men came down and watched
for silvered flashes.
Pink would be inside and make
a mouth want to melt it down.
The river power we would sing
Guthrie-style in grade school,
how rolling power and darkness
were misaligned, how wild
river and light was such empty logic,
and little boys learn to forget.
In school, where poor men send
the next young nation, a new
nation conceived in hydrodamnation
and simple salmon ******
Little boy rain from Rockies
going near my door, and whipped
whirlpools spinning funnels of
quick deadening swim traps,
so stay so far from bad river,
doing nothing more than
running off to sea. Stay near shore
and enjoy the new electricity.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
a draper is someone who creates garments or patterns by draping fabric directly onto a dress form (Wikipedia)
~~~~
I am a draper,
by trade, by nature, by instinct;
a fling of one arm across her body,
while she dreams and sleeps, rambles, mumbles,
and even convulses,
to hold her tight with two, with both,
soon grows discomforting as the blood ceases to flow,
the heat breeds unsweetened sweat,
and the snuggling impact,
is too fast subsumed by the pins and needles
numbing, deadening,
and ironical attenuation
this is my pattern,
how I address her,
how I dress her,
draping my contiguous,
drawing five fingers
upon her form,
reshaping her in her sleep,
the arm flung, there, and then
there,
to be hung,
at varied places across her body,
higher lower, above below,
but her face,
free and clear,
so not to interfere
with her sensory preceptors
and as I draw my pattern upon her skin,
her body whole,
listening her to indeterminate utterances,
to determine
which
pitter patter pattern
to which.
she feels best suited,
then,
I prepare my
invoice
for her,
for services rendered,
to present upon awakening,
demanding
in voice,
by her voice,
payment in words,
of her own chosen
amuse-bouche,
mmmm, will it be?
good morning my love?
hello you!
or just an indiscriminate
but yet,
a discriminating
sound of
having been pleasured
by unknown forces
in her deeper sleep, using her lips
to say, to hum, to sing,
a genteel unspecific
but, and yet, a
terrific,
deep from within
guttural remittance,
the sound of a delicious,
mmmmmming
greeting
a new equinoxal gale
of a refreshing fresh
birthing, fulsome
already satisfying
draping of the
day
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 5:01 PM UTC
Seagull on rotting planks, bouy bells ding to fog and driftwood.
A culling fire exploits the docking shire.
Filled with chlorine shards, legs caught in the clap-traps.
Friar palms glisten,
Rage responds with frisson.
Clear view over water.
Feel your arms relax and slip onto your back while the culling fire attacks.
Bulbous deadening brain chimes
As the eyes slide down to your omission crimes.
Leave me alone in my despondent company.
Don't push the matter further let communication fail to nurture.
A warm breeze carries me
like a floating portrait towards unreal scented meats.
I'm here now, alone in the corner,
The greatest intimacy with the static patterns on the carpeted flooring. The king of this corner is the odor of plank seating and flowery detergent in this lonely corridor fluorescent light-bulb poles and old grain floorboards.
Now the returning shards of panic to uncelibate strangers drive me up, far, deep in my own ribcage to something wholly non-organic.
Time to clock-in, time to check out.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
Heartbreak Poems Writ After Midnight
Poems writ after midnight
Effervesce intensity, how can it be, both an
Awakening, a dreading, a deadening?
Volcano in the chest, bullet in the head,
Cry stifled, but heard blocks away,
Almost reaching a house where you live
Poems writ after midnight
Presage dread of day soon to start,
Come forth more effortlessly,
Spill, soil, stain - simultaneous - pillow, cheek, us.
Rivulets of senses aflame,
Police cars and fire engines scream warning, coming,
Roaring warning lights of silent pain, heard blocks away,
Almost reaching a house where you live
It's June and from hallways and town streets,
Your shadow will disappear, graduate, not from, but to
You-know-where, the place where
Emo music is born and screamos die,
Same **** place that
Poems come from after midnight
Offered emollients, creams, stupid words,
Drugs, hugs, catch phrases that never soothe, irritate hurt worse,
The only word in the universe of words
I can't explain
A four letter gift my lover 'presented' and
It is pain
Read somewhere some poems never end,
Now I understand that better,
Cause there are no bandages, stitches that can close,
Cause there are no pills, switches that can shut off,
The ripping sound, the cutting noise, the raging inside
Heard blocks away, almost reaching a house where you live,
And dying in the same **** place that
Poems come from after midnight.
5:16 am forever
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe I should just stop--
Stop trying
Stop feeling
Just... stop.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe I should just end it
Would anyone care?
Would anyone notice?
Maybe I should just stop.
I regret ever feeling at all
Harden my walls, forget my heart
Decide that nothing, no one, is worth my pall
I wish I didn't have to become numb to be okay,
Just to make the pain go away.
I regret ever feeling at all
I want to be strong
But, I should've known all along:
I feel too deeply to be healthy,
Especially when people are involved.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe I want to die
Maybe just a line at my wrist
(The X-Acto knife in my drawer would do the trick)
But no, perhaps not (I am not a fan of pain)
Bleeding out takes far too long
I don't think I could take it, anyway.
I regret ever feeling at all
The voices in my head say I'm worthless
No wonder everyone's gone
I can't attract anyone, I'm too broken
The deadness in my eyes belies a dormant predator
Watch out, I'm a hidden monster
I may catch you in my claws before a single word has been spoken
Beware the darkness of a shattered heart,
It will be far too sharp.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe this is for the best
Maybe I'll finally learn my lesson
And never have to trust again
I'm blowing this out of proportion
This is so much worse in my head
But you said I should spend time with myself, love,
No matter how many times I wish myself dead.
I regret ever feeling at all
I am so far out of my depth
I don't know what to do, love
I wish you could see this mess from my shoes.
This constant nagging ache, I wish it'd go away.
I regret ever feeling at all
I want to hate you,
To lose the pang in my stomach when you wear bruises on your neck
Your trophies are the cause of my heartbreak
Why can't you just stay away?
I regret ever feeling at all
I wish my friends could stand being around me
But maybe they sense the monster within
Who hungers jealously for that which she cannot have
Who lusts for the flesh of one who does not love her
Who, deep down, wants to hurt everyone who wrongs her.
I regret ever feeling at all
This darkness is so suffocating
Why did I have to, for you of all people, fall?
When you cannot feel the same
When all I get from you is pain
I love you, I hate you, I feel all of the above.
I regret ever feeling at all
This horrible, deadening cold
It seeps through my limbs
All I want is a hand to hold,
Someone to chase the demons away,
Someone who can love me as much as I love you,
Someone who wants to save me from myself,
As much as I do you.
I regret ever feeling at all
Maybe if I disappeared, you'd wonder what you did wrong
Maybe you'd actually call
Would you feel any of my regret?
Would you feel the hurt you cause?
I don't know that, love,
I just know I regret ever feeling at all.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:05 PM UTC
I don't Know if history repeats itself
But I do know that you don't.
I remember that city was didvided
Not only between Jews and Arabs,
But Between me and you,
When we were there together.
We made ourselves a womb of dangers
We built ourselves a house of deadening wars
Like men of far north
Who build themselves a safe warm house of deadening ice.
The city has been reunited
But we haven't been there together.
By now I know
That History doesn't repeat itself,
As I always knew that you wouldn't.
3.1k
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
How to make nonsense out of bitter citrus fruits
Leave them be, already a font of nonsensical egg yolks
You do this for yourself, your own self, and no other self
Endure another fortnight daliance, you dance forthrightly
Absorb information like paranoia
The facts are lying in bed with an orange banana
How to make something lasting in a world cursed with impermanence
It cannot be done. It simply cannot be done.
The length of a breadbasket will often determine
the size of the loaf
The ratio of meat to potatoes makes nonsensical lemonade
The worst kind...worse than the worst
This document is not intended for distribution
during the lifetime of the author
Only with his passing disseminate expecting sympathy for
the old poet's story, how rarely it truly changes
The ingredients for the above mentioned nonsense
have been properly proportortioned and mixed per instruction
Take a wiff, you can smell the sweet aroma of their baking vapor
As a child I ate spoonfuls of baking powder
The aroma certainly saturates the proceedings
Almost intoxicating how it smacks your heart with nostalgia
The stupid cartoons, the National Lampoon stolen from the convenience store you hung out in
Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in
That, my friend, is the beginning from the end
That, my foe, is the bleedin' end of the road
I'm in Ian Curtis' voice, deadening repetion
Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out
Ding, Ding, the timer in the kitchen chimes it's melancholy ring
The nonsense is at this present moment complete
Ready to serve, ready to eat
and please don't choke on my words, I'm half asleep
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
Monotony
Day in
Day out
Same thing
It is
My life on repeat
It is what my life has evolved to be
This is
My deadening
Monotony
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 9:23 PM UTC
Dandelion Flights, so Dandy
He's a Swell kinda fella
If you catch him at a proper Hour
He gets the Rosy Red, ya See
Reviews Legends, some about
Storming the Beaches of Normandy
Gritting Power of this Jaws,
Leans in close for Dramatists Pause
An Aged Mouth, the Black of Life
Spits over into his World of Words
Spirits gathering, the Deadening in Delivering
The Tales of the Long Lost Listeners
I Revel in the Imagery, Mindsight Sees
Battlegrounds Soundtrack
The lapping Tide, the remote Tanks and Warplane Engines, the dusty soldiers yelling out commands,
Words too faint to Understand
but the Sound of Fear, Gutwrenching, Rage, Pits of Painstaking, Heroic Strain
I'd so easily slip back in Time
To relive his Stories of Lucid Dreams
WAKE-UP ISN'T CONTRAST
I Only Will my Eyes open
After a Silence has Befallen
My Lids Jolt Open,
As I survey the Scene, Listening, Feeling for any Sign and Everything The Moment collapsed
In to the Present Presence.
Reaching over the Table
I felt for breath and the Old Man's Essence, I sighed and shook my head Knowingly
This Man who fought all Those Battles and Lived to Tell, Would not leave in It's Retelling,
not from this World nor the Next
No way, Not this One....He was just One of the many Spirits that passed through from Time to Time, and needed
an Ear to hear His Story...
I certainly didn't Mind...
Ethereal Sport is my Truest kinda Scene.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
He wants none of it
The unrelenting fame
Paparazzi's lights
Never out of sight
The crushing weight
Of a well-known name
He wants none of it
The life-sucking fame
Endless demands
From legions of fans
Happiness funneling
Right down the drain
He wants none of it
The soul-deadening fame
Prestige a cruel mistress
All joys turned to business
Dousing his spirit
To extinguish its flame
No, he craves anonymity
For stardom to cease
To be happy with less
Freed from the stress
True glory found
In a life lived in peace
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
A yellow brick road glistens before me
A sign dubbed “Straight is the best way to go”
Even though an ominous aura flows
My inner voice screams
“Chaos will erupt if you walk further”
But my body moves independently
Down the sunny-patched pavement
The bright yellow shade grays
The unbowed path jerks far left
Away from the right destination
The map displays a straight yellow line
Heading directly to the city of great prospects
The mapped road looks as secure as the Great Wall
Running at ease without obstructions
Yet in reality
I ventured into the Desert of Disasters
The powdered sand deadening my progress
The volatile sandstorms
Stalls my venture
And conceals the route
Of the yellow brick road
Little water left
The path nowhere in sight
Only minuscule hope and perpetual effort
Can reveal the true path to salvation
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
Lost in a lover's maze of hope
your words twisting this way
turning with deft
deadening at I love you
but I'm not out yet
Where is the exit?
I can't be guided on words
lead me, show me, grab my hand..
take it in yours.
Your touch, your love, it knows the way.
Or will I stay forever playing this game?
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
Twisting endless all-consuming halls
Drain faith from faceless souls
Drowning fragile minds as a white black hole
Deadening the faint cry of tormented minds’ calls
An ocean limitlessly deep
No bottom, no surface, all sides ever-expanding
And containing, concentrating in this treacherous keep
Forever feeding, and forever demanding
This prison of mind so real in the flesh, always inhuming, never exhuming, always changing, yet always the same. An honest suffering, all who are so free are chained in their own selves. Reality is dementia and insanity is standard, the ambitions of old are long gone to the wind. The candles of emotions are blown wild in the gust melting wick, wax, and burning wooden stand to become one hideous, beautiful, abnormal, fantastic anomaly.
I ferment in this sickening hole
The pungent smell of mindless efficiency
Creates an equality I cannot stand
This nightmarish labyrinth can break a man
The ones deemed just, fuel this travesty
Of false love and compassion, feeds the gates toll
Once I had a meaning in life
But it vanished in the course of a night
In the past I may have had some grand scheme
But eternal freedom has intervened
I wish deep down that I could live again
In the sunlight world away from my pain
In my stormy mind there is always rain
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 2:53 AM UTC
prayer of hope, for young and old, who suffer from the slings and arrows sadness and the loss of love; I offer up this prayer of hope and offer you my hand around your shoulders until you no longer require it
more than once,
for lengthy periods,
by events, other people,
my self was eradicated
and limping from day
to night, and J faced
absolutes, choices choking,
alternating alternatives that
offered zero, or even less
than zero, and the inkwell
wasn't refillable, and I could
point to nothing yet encouraging a mystifying purposed existence
then came a woman
who asked nor proffered
conditionals
pre, prior post or otherwise
and
offered up the miraculous
drink, human kindly notice,
snd it
drained the bitters,
began fluid replacement,
and slow resuscitation
and then
poems rebirthed me,
liberated the angry sacred
gory sadness words devoid of glory,
with a reworded score, and
the eyes could write without
a patina filter of jaundiced hatred,
and whispered private internally
many times a beloving
hallelujah
and when ever the remembrance of
the near misses are crackly occasionally appearing, the surge dissipates intact quick
into a netherworld for suppressing
and bid "away with you," and a
thin lipped smile part sneer
for having survived
even
prospered when
then came a woman
and the self, the my self,
returned
after an absence of destructed
decades...deadening decades
and I smile when
the grandchildren tell me
knock knock jokes
and gently knock me on the head,
to make sure I'm alert,
then came woman
who had already~all ready
knocked me on the
heart
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 9:32 AM UTC
Hemingway said,
"Write hard and clear about what hurts."
And I'm hurting.
And it's muddled.
And it's clear all at once.
But I know this:
It hurts hard.
When part of your heart
Up and leaves-
Even when you know that it's coming-
It hurts like part of your heart was up
And cut out.
It hurts like when you get home
And you run in-
And no one's there to greet you.
It hurts like when you sit at home-
And the piano keys are dusty.
It hurts and it's deafening
And deadening-
And the silence is overwhelming.
It hurts like a coffee *** that doesn't get empty,
And a grocery bill that goes down.
It hurts like unworn shoes in a closet
And it hurts like unwashed sheets
On an unused bed.
It hurts like borrowing his clothes
And reading his books
And writing him letters.
It hurts hard
And clear
And muddled
All at once.
It hurts like goodbye.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
the pictures from the ISS
make it very clear
to everybody with a TV screen
or a computer
our earth is a globe
and blue
and finite
and in a delicate balance
determined by more factors than even
our most sophisticated computer simulations
can so far figure out
it makes you wonder
why
of all people
those who surely own more than one TV screen
and a couple of notebooks & cetera
are the ones who deny
that they are
destroying our rain forests
polluting our rivers and seas
poisoning our environment
ruining our lives
deadening our minds
maybe
if they dare to set forth
even a step or two
from their isolated gated habitats
and walk in the real world
they have created
they are able to begin
to understand
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
when I reached the age of reason I hit the ground,
running. the thought flits
across compact mirror smudged from years of overuse &
abandon, left behind
in purse bottoms and backpacks every time I switch up my style &
move on to something:
new/ fresh / else.
a glance into glass &
I'm transported: a babe on white lambskin,
a second-hand nostalgia never wholly mine.
a missing, another memory removed,
a down-to-the-wire tally
added to the roster, unexpectedly
the emotional prodigy, ostracized
alongside destined veracity: as in my absolute
devotion to TRUTH!
the time skip, a box-out, a blackout, a kindness.
a comfort over the desk chair where homework completes itself
after countless 'mixtape playlists' limewired maniacally
alphabetized, rearranged & revised until dawn/
another decade / chapter: a bookworm,
a blockout, a maneuver 'round roadblock,
a machination, a manipulation, a deadening, a defeat,
an assistant Mother only a child
self, the intrigue... yet
here I am, a spectacle,
a miracle, a smashing, a light on an island out at sea,
an accident, a ripening survived.
can I trust myself. to dive in. for / by myself?
when I lift the stretch of lambskin from an atticked brown box,
a painted porcelain plate hits the ground,
shattered.
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 9:07 PM UTC
The jet- black, coal-smeared dawn
of days afterwards
of starless nights
and moon less nights
of deep dark darkness
thick and sticky
pitch and oil
***** days of charred wood
and ash.
That scouring whiteness
that etching acid purity
of white heat metal days
The crisp starched sun-scented
wind sail sheet
smoothed flat peace flag days.
That white marble slab cool
blanched forensic world
of questions and answers.
The sunset rusty reddening
pain deadening
leeching of the scarlet wash
crimson and vermilion
ruby berries and rose blush
blood tear letting
letting go.
No lead for gold - no alchemy here
No runes or trickery - no book of spells
No steady path of transformation
Just the heavy hollowed wreath
that black, white and red tricolour
of grief.
© M.L.Emmett
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
I'm just sitting her waiting on the bus
I'm tired, it's been a tiring day
not because I was busy
the opposite, sitting there stagnating
like grease going hard and sticking to the pan
I'm underpaid when busy
the recession has ended that
I hope they move me
I'm getting paid for doing nothing
It's soul-destroying, spirit-stifling, mind-deadening dull
I'm working for the public, apparently
but their an entity I rarely see
I talk to them on the phone and now and again communicate by letter
I'm drowning in nothingness, there is no job satisfaction
maybe they'll offer me redundancy
it could be the kick I need to search for something
something that feeds my soul
at the moment I feel I'd be better collecting the dole
Here I am collecting dust
pretty soon my brain will rust
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
prayer of hope, for young and old, who suffer from the slings and arrows sadness and the loss of love; I offer up this prayer of hope and offer you my hand around your shoulders until you no longer require it
more than once,
for lengthy periods,
by events, other people,
my self was eradicated
and limping from day
to night, and J faced
absolutes, choices choking,
alternating alternatives that
offered zero, or even less
than zero, and the inkwell
wasn't refillable, and I could
point to nothing yet encouraging a mystifying purposed existence
then came a woman
who asked nor proffered
conditionals
pre, prior post or otherwise
and
offered up the miraculous
drink, human kindly notice,
snd it
drained the bitters,
began fluid replacement,
and slow resuscitation
and then
*poems rebirthed me,
liberated the angry sacred
gory sadness words devoid of glory,
with a reworded score, and
the eyes could write without
a patina filter of jaundiced hatred,
and whispered private internally
many times a beloving
hallelujah
and when ever the remembrance of
the near misses are crackly occasionally appearing, the surge dissipates intact quick
into a netherworld for suppressing
and bid "away with you," and a
thin lipped smile part sneer
for having survived
even
prospered when
then came a woman
and the self, the my self,
returned
after an absence of destructed
decades...deadening decades
and I smile when
the grandchildren tell me
knock knock jokes
and gently knock me on the head,
to make sure I'm alert,
then came woman
who had already~all ready
knocked me on the
heart
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 9:57 AM UTC
Driving past the roundabout.
Beatles on, roof down.
Been working like a dog,
And when we go around
I am reminded of Yeats
And his widening gyre –
A concept quite curious,
His genius I admire.
High on happiness,
The battle today is done.
His words consume my heart away
As my shades reflect the sun.
The music: loud,
Really loud, too loud,
Louder,
Deafening.
Each second stripped away,
Pushed coolly across my face
And through my hair like the
Blustery breeze.
I feel so at ease,
But not for long, for today,
Time turns against me in that race.
Race, race faster.
Go fast,
Faster,
Deadening.
The fateful call comes.
I must accept it
And ignorantly fall foul
Of the unexpected,
As the fumes of summer fruit –
The movement of strawberry sales,
Crosses the beaten asphalt.
My face rapidly pales.
Turning and turning,
Spinning half a dozen.
Anarchy loosened, burning –
My rough beast has risen.
I fail to feel alright,
Drenched in a poppy field!
The music is slowly dying,
Softening.
A revolution has been fought,
Restrained as the summer breeze
Is stopped, then turned on its head.
I marvel at the distant trees
Spinning, so dizzy I can barely move.
Crushed car, blood dripping, crushing me.
The world is as red as those pitiless poppies
And I discover the truth:
They will be the last thing I see,
The last glimpses of life:
Choke, choke,
Eyes spiralling,
Choking, blood,
Drowning.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
What is man foreshortened
What is double jeopardy
What is a guilty heart
What is bitter mercy
What is violent reprieve
What is holy war
What is warning sign
What is forgotten acknowledgement
What is typify human mind
What is angry butterflies
What is nondescript sensation
What is confidential arrogance
What is confident ignorance
What is actual sciences
What is factual compliance
What is physical interment
What is spiritual deadening
What is absence of dreams
What is ephemeral existence
What is shackled will
What is internal inhibition
What is stagnant emotion
What is paradox in motion
What is all devoid of awe
What is this waking moment
What is what is.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC