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"defused" poems
Worry a'creapin Confusion sets Nerves are startled Fear Upsets Minds a racin' Thoughts implode Face is flushed Fear Explodes Hearts a'flutter Chest tightens up Voices stutter Fear Erupts Hearts a'poundin Sweat then rolls Panic resounding Fear unfolds Deaths a'loomin Dreads attack All consuming Fear is back Peace a'buildin Calm ensues If Gods willing Fear defused
0
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 5:35 PM UTC
Anxiety
**zero context shifts *multitasking is multi~asking your brain to do what does not come naturally, the enthused poem starts up, lion roaring, a muscle car, brain throbs organic pulses semi~orgasmic of a near-completion in your neuronic ***** exciting and **** all you-writ so far is: your name, some crazed, minimal two fingers of words with no context, no preconceived word lotion to balm-spread over the enflamed areas of your brain skin except that it’s 6:47 am, coffee in hand, your woman slumber rumbles a left over dream, speechifying, and room, cool conditioned cold, ignoring notifications of overnight elections, and a reminder-by-photo where you were this day seven years ago today, all put asided, permission ungranted to any distractions, there will be zero context shifts* til the spillage of your morn squeaking meager is fully pillage~d here, it be within my it-takes-no- village, @ 6:56 and Whitman is tsk-tsking at the low poetry of my scripting, Hafiz says “hey! nothing about god or love, what good is that?” but it’s ok for i’ve emptied the early morning brain bowels, defused fusses and asides, tossed asided & there is yet some coffee remaining but the expiation for having been reborn this newly birthed day has earned me atonement for taking up space in this planet and as of yet, I’ve not stated yet to any, no. all humans, I hate you ~ but the day is infantile and opportunity plentiful @7:03AM nyc morning Wed Nov 8, in the year of hatred, a/k/a twenty twenty three.
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Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 7:33 AM UTC
zero context shifts (in the year of hatred)
**zero context shifts *multitasking is multi~asking your brain to do what does not come naturally, the enthused poem starts up, lion roaring, a muscle car, brain throbs organic pulses semi~orgasmic of a near-completion in your neuronic ***** exciting and **** all you-writ so far is: your name, some crazed, minimal two fingers of words with no context, no preconceived word lotion to balm-spread over the enflamed areas of your brain skin except that it’s 6:47 am, coffee in hand, your woman slumber rumbles a left over dream, speechifying, and room, cool conditioned cold, ignoring notifications of overnight elections, and a reminder-by-photo where you were this day seven years ago today, all put asided, permission ungranted to any distractions, there will be zero context shifts* til the spillage of your morn squeaking meager is fully pillage~d here, it be within my it-takes-no- village, @ 6:56 and Whitman is tsk-tsking at the low poetry of my scripting, Hafiz says “hey! nothing about god or love, what good is that?” but it’s ok for i’ve emptied the early morning brain bowels, defused fusses and asides, tossed asided & there is yet some coffee remaining but the expiation for having been reborn this newly birthed day has earned me atonement for taking up space in this planet and as of yet, I’ve not stated yet to any, no. all humans, I hate you ~ but the day is infantile and opportunity plentiful @7:03AM nyc morning Wed Nov 8, in the year of hatred, a/k/a twenty twenty three.
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42
I always enjoy flying high, but many things bring me back down, so I grow a beard I am up to see another adventure that I indulge as I shave. My heart beat drops, of memory of you, and what should have become, so I grow a beard I converse with new souls that pick me up , shall i shave. As all things, life complicates and freedom of thinking is defused, so I grow a beard I overcome the difficulties and see new opportunity, only to shave. Once again the thought of you, and stress lowers me to a place where I grow a beard. I only shaved a little as I know what means to me.
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Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
Beard of emotions
Liquid karma seeps into our cuts The density of blood is defused by courage The sun sets in our arteries and the moon grows with each heartbeat Sometimes I forget that no one has felt this before That exploring the unknown comes with a price And like a giant drowned in ant hills I am lost in things too small to comprehend A star lost amongst the infinite sky A koi struggling against the never ending tide You are the priest caught in a fight finding your true self amongst unsuitable affairs And all I want is for you to know I'll be by your side
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Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
Nishikigoi
you made my life vivid with music now you don't n i lose it you were my medicine when i got too sick ***** im the bomb n u defused it my heart, you used it **** your **** n i don't care if u excuse it i don't give a **** nor two ***** ****** blow me ***** n let my ooze spit i ****** your mom for amusement. hehe
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Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
random Rhyme
my eyes speak out a narrow street notorious for fatal accidents scorching everyone involved leaving impertinent witnesses hence silent gaze shies away exposure, self-denied to keep from harm avoid collateral and not just eyes but words they slip they cost they hurt the best the most bitten tongue cannot dissolve no, bitten lip cannot contain boiling recklessness come close meet walls cruelly transparent self-defused bomb a self-contained woe window shopping a blink away from shattered showcase
0
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 11:34 PM UTC
Disaster
A painting in black and white, red and gold. I keep this image of you in my minds eye. you where standing parallel to the orange tree of equal leaves. Your tight frame illuminated by defused clouds that rip across the pitched void of a starry sky. Drifting grass moves like a rhythmic stream of gold rolling over the tiny hill. Only you and the small tree quietly defy the long grasses movement. I can close my eyes and see your shadowed face there; Just taking the third pull off the 100 cigarette, exhaling slowly forming a thin chain of smoke. All in black and white, red and gold. Such is the painting I keep in the center of my mind. A painting I will always hold closest to my heart.
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May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
A painting in black and white
Down no plains of flowing grass up no hills of trees that stand what tips your hat? where is your flaw? disillusioned taste defused for all, mimicked in the voice of a flower through hearts of trees, outstretching complex, limbs hidden simply facilitated in common goal, conditioned used for all; how do you stand? quite so tall in divined obsession it seems to find all nurtured and withdrawn concealed in fixation no one finds your flaw for there’s none at all yet from deception, true love finds all in this shambled; shrine, not flawed in design nurtured from unseen confronted with existence.
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Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Tree in a park
Dear friends many of you have moved from surroundings I knew and loved with you but my memories of us have not defused like clouds hanging dark but always new. In old age it is the memories that flow and make you present with hearts beating wildly times we drank beer decrying the status quo and when we celebrated little things like being Friday. We celebrated a lot when life was so full alive with discoveries, conflicts, and diversity when our desires and thoughts pushed and pulled and we felt pain and hope in multiplicity. But now so many of you are gone to places unknown: some to you and some to me and together we won’t know joys of new dawns we will deal with things like that **** aching knee. For some of you your children are grown for me poetry, love, and God enliven and wake me up but nobody can take from me the bonds I have known bonds cast with you in sharing, caring, and lifting life’s cup. In long moments in a waiting room trying to ignore the next challenge of my body I’ll be grateful. I’ll not dwell in spaces of doom I’ll remember those times of being good or naughty. I’ll visit the rooms and the halls where we gathered to learn and teach in those precious moments of my recall I’ll gather you together for the universes we’ve yet to reach. Written 6-30-18
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Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 8:10 AM UTC
Letter to My Old Colleague Friends (Epistolary form)
I'm so confused, Like a ticking bomb, I need to be defused My feelings are jared up Mixed emotions -- I do not know where to start Met you in my worst, And you stayed. And that made it even worst You make me feel less cynical, Clearer than crystal, Every move now is critical What magic do you posses? With one look everything is supressed, Smile and the sleepless world is at rest I want you, I need you But I can never have you.
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Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 3:02 AM UTC
Haven
A thought bubbles up from my mind Cooperation, people working together To revive their poisoned planet Tanks dismantled, bombs defused Grand parades celebrating the end of war Brothers of different races Arm-in-arm Looking toward the future Instead of dwelling on the past Planting great gardens Of red and gold and blue Flowers the size of houses Symphonies shouting the music of souls Touching the hearts of millions Sunny parks, green grass, tennis ***** Food enough for all who desire it A blend of cuisines from across the globe Gracing every plate Children laughing The bubble turns dark Pop.
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Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 12:56 PM UTC
Bubble
My limbs are gushing while I walk down towards the seaside pier, these endings and these beginnings ascending again into mere cycles, the rising and falling chest, beating heart, transcending I walk hand in hand with you, restated love, the new and the old clothes we wear wrapped around our breathless poses our heads filled with thoughts of rose ridden gardens, and of course children dancing, playing games between our spacious Pohutakawa branches where you first taught me about romantics without that rudimentary triteness and you sitting, coffee in hand at the picnic table swearing revolution is never possible to I dancing, remarking “you are such the cynic” before grabbing you and twirling you faster than the earth rotates As we drift closer to the sea the inconstant wind winds the clock to 10pm, the minutes restoring those now withered days of woollen coats, new music and Dunedin I would stand behind you while you played the flute thinking of that time where we played in the rhododendrons till dark; folding time folding into my arms, the sky white and blue juxtaposed against the trees darkened spikes explore the sea what was it? me, me, me, of course, I see and I remember the melody (lets go under the covers we can play games in the dark we could even try adding to those stars on your ceiling) so now, again, for a moment, we reappear in this hour, this walk, this air stilted, shaking we resurface, and soak in the watery soils of previous deluges become something overwhelming, something insoluble here we are, on the Pier at noon, dazed, defused by a familiar grip on the fingers index snug between the ring “take me to the end” “but darling, we are going further than that” before we jump we tie our balloon to the pole and promise to return, on horses painted silver and brass Hey, nice to see you here come with me lets watch the sunrise from the beach, I think I sense a revolution stirring
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Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
Reunions
My limbs are gushing while I walk down towards the seaside pier, these endings and these beginnings ascending again into mere cycles, the rising and falling chest, beating heart, transcending I walk hand in hand with you, restated love, the new and the old clothes we wear wrapped around our breathless poses our heads filled with thoughts of rose ridden gardens, and of course children dancing, playing games between our spacious Pohutakawa branches where you first taught me about romantics without that rudimentary triteness and you sitting, coffee in hand at the picnic table swearing revolution is never possible to I dancing, remarking “you are such the cynic” before grabbing you and twirling you faster than the earth rotates As we drift closer to the sea the inconstant wind winds the clock to 10pm, the minutes restoring those now withered days of woollen coats, new music and Dunedin I would stand behind you while you played the flute thinking of that time where we played in the rhododendrons till dark; folding time folding into my arms, the sky white and blue juxtaposed against the trees darkened spikes explore the sea what was it? me, me, me, of course, I see and I remember the melody (lets go under the covers we can play games in the dark we could even try adding to those stars on your ceiling) so now, again, for a moment, we reappear in this hour, this walk, this air stilted, shaking we resurface, and soak in the watery soils of previous deluges become something overwhelming, something insoluble here we are, on the Pier at noon, dazed, defused by a familiar grip on the fingers index snug between the ring “take me to the end” “but darling, we are going further than that” before we jump we tie our balloon to the pole and promise to return, on horses painted silver and brass Hey, nice to see you here come with me lets watch the sunrise from the beach, I think I sense a revolution stirring
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65
I am lost! I have crossed a divide, where I collide with the unrevealed. I am thrown into swirling life spinning amidst defused light; a kaleidoscopic landscape of streaked memories. Is the end of this tunnel, my future or past? Is there any evidence that I'm getting closer, at last? An illusory distant point - a distraction from action that needs to materialize before I realize that I am not strong, and am wrong about where I want to be. I attempt to grip the whirl of wind; hands outstretched to slow the spin. My feet have yet to find land. My body plans for impact a stuntman's tumble back into mid-life, eluding strife or contention, but not to mention, the final and ultimate cost; alongside bittersweet acceptance, of knowing that I am no longer lost.
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Jun 2, 2021
Jun 2, 2021 at 7:09 PM UTC
Lost!
~~~ someday soon gonna reread the four figures of my poems over lifetime inked, divvy  them up by what each is about, assemblage of the themes of me review the who what when and weird of this guy through his own eyes multiplying confessions of graces and disgraces particular to recover, desirous of collecting those poems that: *valorize society’s strugglers and stragglers...humans doing the work of living*^ don't know how many will be uncovered, but here's hoping there are plenty, needy of recovery and uncovering the poet and worthy of pointing too, valuation markers of a decent human strugglers, stragglers, those from all over this world and lives that can only visualize no-horizon-in-sight oceans sailors, from ports unvisited, some even, still undiscovered, working ****** and women, not those, don't owners of fancy dress whites, topped of by jaunty angelic-angled caps the ones I sought and seek, grime and coal dust etched into every ****** crevice, ink under fingernails, in obscurity, toil in windowless engine rooms, in the nooks in libraries hiding, satisfied with a moment of glory, and a lasting hand upon their wracked minds these are my mates, sharing fates of woeful countenances of bruised bodies, recipients of hardest blows repetitious, comrades in open arms the unflavored, unfavored of sons and daughters, unblessed with sobs and smacks, who rare lift the head in hope the sufferers of ignominy of the prison of their existence, for those I write, have, will, and willing to do it till I see a chin rising, white of eyes gleaming, a hand delisted, arms defused of black weights come to me, words, encouragement, perspective, that this too shall pass believing ain't easy, take it from one who couldn't see happy endings, but had no choice but to choose to, now prepped, ready for my arms to do some serious uplifting, shoulders heavy-loaded and wide of loads, eager for honest work, aiding and abetting the stragglers and and stragglers... humans doing the work of living, deserving for valuation, awaiting their salutation, and relief, even if, tiny and small, a slim volume of poems, that but one poet provided
0
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
the themes of me/valorize the strugglers
~~~ someday soon gonna reread the four figures of my poems over lifetime inked, divvy  them up by what each is about, assemblage of the themes of me review the who what when and weird of this guy through his own eyes multiplying confessions of graces and disgraces particular to recover, desirous of collecting those poems that: *valorize society’s strugglers and stragglers...humans doing the work of living*^ don't know how many will be uncovered, but here's hoping there are plenty, needy of recovery and uncovering the poet and worthy of pointing too, valuation markers of a decent human strugglers, stragglers, those from all over this world and lives that can only visualize no-horizon-in-sight oceans sailors, from ports unvisited, some even, still undiscovered, working ****** and women, not those, don't owners of fancy dress whites, topped of by jaunty angelic-angled caps the ones I sought and seek, grime and coal dust etched into every ****** crevice, ink under fingernails, in obscurity, toil in windowless engine rooms, in the nooks in libraries hiding, satisfied with a moment of glory, and a lasting hand upon their wracked minds these are my mates, sharing fates of woeful countenances of bruised bodies, recipients of hardest blows repetitious, comrades in open arms the unflavored, unfavored of sons and daughters, unblessed with sobs and smacks, who rare lift the head in hope the sufferers of ignominy of the prison of their existence, for those I write, have, will, and willing to do it till I see a chin rising, white of eyes gleaming, a hand delisted, arms defused of black weights come to me, words, encouragement, perspective, that this too shall pass believing ain't easy, take it from one who couldn't see happy endings, but had no choice but to choose to, now prepped, ready for my arms to do some serious uplifting, shoulders heavy-loaded and wide of loads, eager for honest work, aiding and abetting the stragglers and and stragglers... humans doing the work of living, deserving for valuation, awaiting their salutation, and relief, even if, tiny and small, a slim volume of poems, that but one poet provided
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83
The yearning, the dreaming, the pain of wanting My touch, my kiss, my warmth on your skin My teasing had wheezing you couldn't keep up, so I slowed down Now I am yearning, I am dreaming, I am feeling the sting of wanting Your touch, your kiss, your warmth on my skin The height of the passion defused by the conquered prize Now there is no more yearning, no more dreaming, but there is pain... Oh, there is pain, the pain of wanting you to want me the way that you used to want me. The thrill of the chase, glittering gem on the horizon but as the horizon approaches its just rocks. Just plain old rocks.
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Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
Glittering Gems
The world is at a stand still Only I move Land mines planted for me to step on defused I've seen how I end I conspired against the truth Words from the TV brain washing my youth A road already paved for me But I choose a dusty trail Off the map I track My tale rewritten Edited by the all mighty In this moment I'm not alone She walks beside me My dusty trail is now her own Conceived on the same day Out of the cold Birth something warm In this moment
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Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
In this moment
I Think Ziggy’s playing guitar again. And walking on the wild side. I fancy a walk it’s a fine spring evening. And I’ve kept my self busy with half arsed house cleaning. Who knows what’s round the corner? What tattered hymns are being hummed from the leopard skin trolley dollies? Their kneeling for distraught drunken jockeys Discussions which inevitably create fraught tension. That which must be defused Catch a break brother you’re casting successive **** storms. Throw on the parker and thus to the shelter. Thirty six and dour and positively ***** Few dollars in the bank. Show patience and may receive what I deserve. I lean and drool, the swagger of Liam Gallagher and clean my shiny Excalibur. Indulge the kindness of strangers. The merging of unstable behaviour. Shake the snow globe and set tasers to stun I talk to the luscious Lucia. Tell her to skip the small talk and let’s get to marinating the pork Another dumb quirk, dumb dirt that comes from my cracked beak. She considerers me flippant and freakish. I am truly scrooge macduffed She returns to her posh rugby fan with blonde locks and a chin that could hold six pints. I lay this dog to die and meet some more familiar faces. All the venues are familiar. Avast the putrid fog of masculine sweat, the desperate air of ****** puns that drag and caress us in the arm pit of jacks sick giant. None of our jokes make any sense and were ducking and diving into primitive offence. The next few hours are unacceptable and the horror must have me in chained. If I could describe the rest Charlie Bronson would light my *** Woke up next day lying on the wing of a Heathrow aeroplane. Without my trousers. And several tubes in the near regions. And now it come to this. Prison showers and a Glaswegian mans kiss.
0
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
5AM Salute
I Think Ziggy’s playing guitar again. And walking on the wild side. I fancy a walk it’s a fine spring evening. And I’ve kept my self busy with half arsed house cleaning. Who knows what’s round the corner? What tattered hymns are being hummed from the leopard skin trolley dollies? Their kneeling for distraught drunken jockeys Discussions which inevitably create fraught tension. That which must be defused Catch a break brother you’re casting successive **** storms. Throw on the parker and thus to the shelter. Thirty six and dour and positively ***** Few dollars in the bank. Show patience and may receive what I deserve. I lean and drool, the swagger of Liam Gallagher and clean my shiny Excalibur. Indulge the kindness of strangers. The merging of unstable behaviour. Shake the snow globe and set tasers to stun I talk to the luscious Lucia. Tell her to skip the small talk and let’s get to marinating the pork Another dumb quirk, dumb dirt that comes from my cracked beak. She considerers me flippant and freakish. I am truly scrooge macduffed She returns to her posh rugby fan with blonde locks and a chin that could hold six pints. I lay this dog to die and meet some more familiar faces. All the venues are familiar. Avast the putrid fog of masculine sweat, the desperate air of ****** puns that drag and caress us in the arm pit of jacks sick giant. None of our jokes make any sense and were ducking and diving into primitive offence. The next few hours are unacceptable and the horror must have me in chained. If I could describe the rest Charlie Bronson would light my *** Woke up next day lying on the wing of a Heathrow aeroplane. Without my trousers. And several tubes in the near regions. And now it come to this. Prison showers and a Glaswegian mans kiss.
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34
*I cast a backward look—how the times changed To the beautiful face in the stroller She Smile, I smiled, the guardian frown A child is not born to hate Hate is taught: Hate is the new formula in their supplements home is where it multiply so easily: Let not occupy kinship bias Defused the bigots: Save our innocent children: No child is born to hate; ~~~~ *World's Wit and Wisdom Children have never been good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them. James Baldwin, 1924 - 1987*
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Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
I cast A Backward Look
Les amours ne sont rien que de piètres adieux; Rah, n’en sois pas si fâché. Eh, mer! Tu n’es qu’un serpent amoureux, Tes mots sont des vagues gachées. *Love is nothing but needy goodbyes; Rah, don’t act so angry about it. Hey, sea! You’re nothing but a smitten snake, Your words are wasted waves.* Les amours ne sont rien que des brindilles sèches; Rah, n’en sois pas si fâché. Eh, mer! Tu n’es qu’une bombe sans mèche, Tes mots sont des ailes arrachées. *Love is nothing but brittle firewood; Rah, don’t act so angry about it. Hey, sea! You’re nothing but a defused bomb: Your words are pluckèd wings.* Les amours ne sont rien que des choses éphémères; Rah, tu t’en remettras vite. Eh, mer! Te lasses-tu parfois d’être mère? Tes mots sont des eaux sans mérite. *Love is nothing but an ephemeral thing; Rah, you’ll get over it soon. Hey, sea! Do you sometimes have enough of being a mother? Your words are worthless waters.*
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Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
Poem for Ocean
Defuse The Bombs When the war was over there are many things left over That never went bang and were there secretly hiding The Germans defused them in many places And were paid in food and reduced sentences Some new types of British bomb had a tricky fuse Hans lost two of his friends to these tricky things The fuse diagrams were held up at the docks Was this on purpose or simply bureaucratic bumbling? From beach to hill to city nowhere was safe Mortars and shells and bombs were everywhere Just waiting to wake up and **** one or two or ten Deadly seeds of mayhem born from carnage Made in factories by old men and girls To fight the biggest event in human history Now it was over those evil creations needed to be cleared Prisoners of War got the job and in return a lighter sentence Only if they weren't proven party members Nazis members Most were teenage soldiers who were green and scared They cleared mines off Danish beaches and bombs in German cities You'd think more didn't explode than did A legacy that last to this day The sad memory of war...
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Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC
Defuse The Bombs
defused into dumbfounded speed kicked eternal dream almost sleep state we never took off. stuck in rest. i rub your head, you lay on my breast. unrest. brush away webs. your skin, it's just fine. It'll pass. It does every time. Hours upon hours Our bubblegum brains, they turn sour. We knew better You relearned all your vowels, all your letters. oh, but your jaw and your lips and the spin and that glass oh the glass.. isnt worth it. i can't believe we ever had the gumption. please don't ask.. ill be vague and you make your assumptions. this is not romantic.
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May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
this is not romantic
Love is but the **** of two minds, yet what is joy? Joy is but the  slaughter of pain which is the reality Life and death remain the duality but the contraction and the most real delusion all shall know beyond logic is chaos but chaos is simply defused logic Stare aimlessly into the nothing that is you and the nothing that is I We are both the same person I am to you as you are to I He is to she what she is to he Our concepts are but smoke in the wind and signify nothing Bloodshed is our purest form of expression a brutal honesty which is the only real part of our nature but what is artifical? The art of ignorance is the most difficult course to master taking generations to achieve Intellect is the pillow that smothers you as a new born baby in your crib All who want you hate you and all that Hate you love you with all the kindness in the world Your weak and made to be destroyed but that is the greatest mercy all shall know Decay further into nothing your true state and put behind the delusion of all that is knoweldge You are nothing as am I Nothing is everything even the flicker of a dying flame carried upon angels wings A lucky bullet strikes the world at exactly midnight and all that is will be no more but a lingering shadow in a universe that doesn't exist Every second that passes until the fatal blow is an eternity in the eyes of us mortals What is mankind but a collection of bactieria inside of an amphibians pupil
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Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
Nothing but a needle ***** inside a bullet hole
Her mouth Enveloped me Saturated this intimate glow Inside of me Touched every corner Traced the lines That I let no one see Her mouth kissed The bruised Bandaged the wires Defused the misfired Her lips I stare For hours She was the missing piece
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Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:43 PM UTC
Her mouth
My words Like knives Cut deep into your bones And I had the audacity To blame you for bleeding Like a coin There are two sides to every story But the facts will still be facts Head or tails The difference doesn't save it from being a coin So I admit my error I accept my right to remain silent But before that I'd like to recall The night we sat in the swings And talked from our hearts For the first time I'd like to refrain From forgetting The roses you brought me That morning in May It rained the rest of the day But none of it enough To wash away my smile Your name is permanently Carved into the walls of my heart But I've learned to love The taste of memories Like I've learned to accept coffee Warm and welcoming at first But if forgotten, bitter and cold Waves of fear no longer wash over me I am a skilled sailor In the oceans of regret But I am a martyr On the battle grounds of forgetting The way you looked at me And held me at my weakest No amount of words Can express The love required to save a condemned man My heart was long gone Before you came And I blamed you for losing it When your hands hadn't touched it Though your voice left finger prints The day you told me you'd chosen me over the million So I guess I'll sign off saying The memory of you Is not a bomb to be defused It keeps me safe on nights When hope is not around My sincerest apologies For not knowing how to Apologize from my heart Instead of my head And my deepest gratitude Goes to you For dealing with the mess I am And for staying I will not forget you And, God forbid, regret you
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Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
I No Longer Blame You
My words Like knives Cut deep into your bones And I had the audacity To blame you for bleeding Like a coin There are two sides to every story But the facts will still be facts Head or tails The difference doesn't save it from being a coin So I admit my error I accept my right to remain silent But before that I'd like to recall The night we sat in the swings And talked from our hearts For the first time I'd like to refrain From forgetting The roses you brought me That morning in May It rained the rest of the day But none of it enough To wash away my smile Your name is permanently Carved into the walls of my heart But I've learned to love The taste of memories Like I've learned to accept coffee Warm and welcoming at first But if forgotten, bitter and cold Waves of fear no longer wash over me I am a skilled sailor In the oceans of regret But I am a martyr On the battle grounds of forgetting The way you looked at me And held me at my weakest No amount of words Can express The love required to save a condemned man My heart was long gone Before you came And I blamed you for losing it When your hands hadn't touched it Though your voice left finger prints The day you told me you'd chosen me over the million So I guess I'll sign off saying The memory of you Is not a bomb to be defused It keeps me safe on nights When hope is not around My sincerest apologies For not knowing how to Apologize from my heart Instead of my head And my deepest gratitude Goes to you For dealing with the mess I am And for staying I will not forget you And, God forbid, regret you
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67
*Don't try and help me, these ***** angels got a hold of me A bottle of Old E to stay cold is all I need G* **If you can reach me I need help, somebody please teach me This motherfucker's like a leach and I can't hear them preach** *Each day you stay away, I surface stronger to make you pay Ain't no way to stray from this curse and it ain't no use to pray* **These highs and lows got me ecstatic and feeling hollow At times I wanna die, **** back and let the bullet follow** *Why wallow in self-pity? embrace it and take the city A man with **** to loose is a man who does as he chooses* **I'm confused, It's like I'm walking in two different peoples shoes One minute I'm about to blow, the next it seems I'm defused** ***** and liquor with marijuana to make me sicker Chased by a swisher, I run up on you and squeeze the trigger* **SOMEBODY STOP ME!! By now somebody should have shot me Don't try and help me because now these ***** angels got me**
0
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
***** Angels (original draft)