"deteriorated" poems
My eyesight is weak without eyeglasses...
It further deteriorated after an accident..
The accident failed to affect a part of me.
The part of mine is something awesome.
In the brain it is placed as an intangible..
My vision is the thing which improved...
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
Hmmm. Getting a way sounds good
I need to find my gateway to getaway
Reason being everybody takes a little small piece of me everyday
Like I'm becoming deteriorated
I need to getaway because in this world you must look out for yourself and not worry about them other people
But what to do when you have a big heart
Big hearts get taken advantage of
Everyday everyone wants something and it's like when does it end
Fact is it never does until I do something about it
But what do I do?
Do I cut off loved ones stop doing things for friends or just vanish disappear
But what would that prove that I can run
I just rather getaway.
Getaway in my mind and in my heart.
I give so much of me but I never receive my pieces back but I don't know
I'll getaway someday somehow.... I'll find my happiness
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
The words will someday bury me, eternally, eventually
a specter that none can venture, or see
and yet, will always be
My ghost now in periphery, essentially, unequivocally
just some paranoid activity
spirits wild, and free
A presence, apparition, without material definition
no clarity from any position
a deteriorated condition
The doctor, from his elevated premonition
pumping me full, and mentally dull
with no chance in hell
of any recognition
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
I'm extremely frustrated
It's difficult to explain
As well as infuriated,
but why complain?
Friendship deteriorated
And ended in pain
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
Growing up is hard to do that's why when I was 12 years old I said I would never do it because it is full of heartache and hatred, trouble and lies, what is the point of leading such an unfulfilled life? Now at only 17, I am being catapulted into a world full of life long choices, where one wrong move- one stupid mistake- can ruin my existence. Yet I have so much resistance because I cling to this notion that i will never grow old. Responsibility is for grownups I would shout then...and even now... but the difference is, today I am going to take 5 standardized tests in 2 weeks and visiting a big brick building that will feed my mind and prepare me for "life"... as if I am not already alive. What is "the real world"? Is it not what I have been going through since birth? Why does reality only hit when you're 18 and starving for attention? Silly me, I was under the impression that I am a human being, going through experiences and learning lessons that will fill my soul. but that’s not true after all; I will only be useful when I have a successful career and child at my hip. **** these rules of society. I am a human, a person, an adult. But not because I chose to be one, I was forced into this role that has deteriorated my mind and thrown me into raging fits of anxiety and depression. Yes, high school has been the greatest years of my life... if by "great" you mean emotionally damaging.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
When people say they're tired of a person, often a friend—
Do they mean, exhausted with the idea of submission to their actions
Responding to their preferences
Falling prey to all their ways
Or hearing them drone loquaciously
Putting down disagree-ers gratuitously
Speaking of themselves, about very little else
Until all hope and faith in them has deteriorated beyond all mercy?
I am yet to confirm
What is true beyond all else
Gone through the Rubicon,
Universal to all nations
But why must I tolerate a monk
That devoutly praises himself to the depths
Beyond all fierce comprehension,
His devotion remains a quandary
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
mantra and insolence hand in hand
intercepting the idea of the baby boy crush applying to me like kinetic sand
barbie dolls at the marriott
saccharine jewels in the sewers rot
with
the old girlie i had a tap on
lipstick peeling away like a deteriorated vinyl record's song
let the angels waver, barter, become sicker
and quote 'say anything' as if it's a 90s sticker
have vomit-stained carpet posted
and
uploaded to the black market webs
caption it ****** me"
and let the media do the rest
tired of these wicked games
isaac position me with rachel some day
at the mosque, eve and ann is scratched out into the old testament books
pack the bags
let's go
the hilton's booked
etch and sketch situated on the train tracks
along with two birds together
feet lazily dangling
bargaining with god to finish them over
****** denial, toothbrush stuffed in the dog's mouth
ran down the line, kissing him to the south
lost the baby girl along the way
let the dirt do the talking
gargled some milk and jack daniels honey
in large arms, lucid dreaming never seemed so calming
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
I watched through tears
--That streamed like the one out back
And the scattered clouds
--The ones that floated overhead for years
A twilit ridge inurn the sun.
It was one of those rising hills of my youth,
One my infant eyes always thought
Gave birth to the moon
Time and again.
With its innocent face smiling
That worldly crispness is lost
And the foggy past is far more defined.
Who are these forms I've lost?
They are but phantoms,
(I tell myself)
And now intangible, those memories
Acidic and dusted with sugar
Held suspended and taunting, like
Feet at the mouth of an open casket.
The cold, bitter knives of impersonal
Reunion
And rejuvenated promises
--Only now remembered, only now forgotten—
Illuminated once again
In the dark.
Passing onward and through
--Like our time together—
Exactly like wind through these **** dead branches
And this grave: winter-bare.
I remember the vivacity
How enlivened the sky, that I
Each day for granted took
And how so much smaller, in my youth,
The mountains afar looked.
But there is no home,
It died when I left.
The poison I fought
Has become the blood which pumps the heart,
Now corrupt,
Antithetical.
Nothing is more colorless, not sky,
Nor hill, nor moon,
Or ever more formless
Than what I once called home.
Now that only exists is deteriorated
A rotting house:
Four walls and a roof to keep
Hatred dry,
Windows and lamps, so
Hatred has eyes,
And all the people that
Hatred hates most.
How cozy it must be to sleep in
One’s own bed, no?
To have some stable place,
And an ounce of certainty?
As for me, that will never be
Again.
Though the house is open,
Lock, room, and all
The home is closed forever
Without a proper epitaph.
Vain death.
Vain,
Vain,
Death.
Now all I can only turn back
And flirt with shadows
Just outside my arms
Walk with images
Shifting, growling, and oh, so dark
--mere abstraction
--future so stark--
With no companion but defeat.
I can’t hug a memory,
Nor cry on recollection’s shoulder,
Nor can my mother or sibling console me,
And I cry alone.
Maturation is merely widening a distance, so
I should let them go,
Bid them adieu
Because, I can't be homesick
For a home
I can't go back to.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
she was a fierce girl:
her wild, red hair stood out among the rest
her hazel eyes sparkled despite the angsts.
she worked hard, refusing to sell herself,
even if his deadline was nearing.
(she promised him.)
her hope and naivety were smashed into pieces
as she slowly ran out of time.
(his time.)
without his knowledge,
she degraded herself.
("As long as it's for you, this pain doesn't hurt me.")
her health deteriorated
as his became better.
curled up in a corner, naked and bare,
she counted the money she earned.
and smiled.
he was a plain boy:
his brown hair wouldn't stay flat
his blue eyes, dull.
he thought of others before of himself
and that's why she fell in love.
(it was the same for him too.)
he collapsed one day,
pain spreading on his chest.
(he knew that that was it.)
he tried denying her support,
but her earnest eyes refused to let him.
("Laughing with you by my side—I'll be fine with just this.")
he slowly became better,
and he planned all sorts of trips for the both of them.
they'd go have a romantic dinner by the beach in summer,
they'd spend new year's cuddled up together, hot chocolate warming them up.
after his surgery, he searched for her—his heart, filled with gratitude
he never found her again.
the scar on his chest would never fade.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC
I’ve kissed too many lips
who tend to forget my name the next day
I’ve hugged bodies who once kept me warm and loved
that are gone as soon as I realize they never meant it.
I’ve spoken words to people who didn’t even deserve to know the secrets of my universe
I’ve shared beds with souls who were only there to acknowledge their own self worth, while mine deteriorated with every second
I’ve loved humans who didn’t even know what love was, causing me to wastefully pour out whatever was left in my heart...
destructing into the fragile bit of me now
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
Immaculate by daylight,
Atrocious at dark.
The stimulus for flesh makes them moonstruck,
Hidden away by an exploit pokerface.
Shades of red everywhere,
Roses and wine still can't satisfy the cravings.
With no guilt and no agony,
Everlasting crimes are on each corner.
The raven interceded in the turtle dove's life,
No longer singing the anomalous melody.
Deteriorated DNA samples and clues,
The oracle slayer whereabouts remain unknown.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
This ship has set sail
With a crew of fifty good men
And twenty heavily coated dogs
Over half the crew will be dead
By the time we reach our destination
On this secret government expedition
Journey to the bottom of the world
To find the Southern Pole
The wind blows us where no life lives
But the bitter cold
From North America
Past the southern tip of Argentina
Harbored at the Falkland Islands
For our last taste of civilization
Six months
Or maybe it was a year or more at sea
To the icy shores of another planet
Encased in endless days of darkness
The ship became marooned
In frozen oceanic tundra
For many winter nights
We the crew chiseled, shoveled
And pick-axed our way to break free
Of our prison made from solid crystal air
Finally unyielding land ahead
An unmovable iceberg
We dock and unload
Steady our sea legs to skis and sleds
The dogs take off across this untraveled land
Pulling us in tow
Faster against the frigid wind
Than our own frostbitten limbs would allow
Ninety degrees south latitude lies somewhere ahead
Blanketed in fresh snowfall and ice storms
Supplies and moral run low as this weary travel continues on
Shaded in zero visibility we set camp for the night
Harbored against the soulless chill
In a frozen crevice of ice mountain
Our health deteriorated and the dogs drained
Polar sleep sets in
The arctic wind chills us to the bone
And my cold eyes close
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 7:28 AM UTC
With the violent jerking,
And battering of my heart,
And my self-image,
I have deteriorated.
I don't want to look at myself for a second longer than it takes
To put on my face in the morning,
Because if I do,
I will begin to poke and **** at my own flesh,
Feeling as if I am going to upchuck every calorie I have consumed
In the 15 years, and 120 days of my life.
If I look at myself long enough,
I am repulsed,
And my day from that point on will be violently,
Disruptively disordered.
Everything I am forced to consume,
Because of the need to hide my disastrous disorder,
Will become disgusting, half-digested
*****
And rottingly,
I will feel pure,
And vile,
All at the same time.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
That day after his birthday
my mind is tormented
by all those white walls
just like that long stare
cooled to bottles and blicks
so my mind is tormented
by all those long hours
thinking, re-thinking intoxicated
like wooden doors shed
to sit in the paint again, I bet
my mind is tormented
by all those minutes concentrated
like the Boeing's departure
penetrated
my heart is in deep torture
my soul deteriorated
three days have elapsed
since the last rainbow I detected
up above so many coloured impressions
memories coming to the surface,
many tawny reflections
all kinds of delightful expressions
darling, my mind is still tormented,
never stories told, no secrets ever unfolded
while driving homewards in silence
quite sad reminiscence
the rainbow on my right hand
on the horizon
is still a bright coloured band
but will soon be oblivion
like this partition....
© Sylvia Frances Chan
28th February 2014
23.55 hrs.p.m.WETime
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
*Voices echo from the halls
of distant memories;
the sky darkened by
the migration of shadows.
Love was found at
the height of appeal;
that moment of joy
arrived quickly
and deteriorated rapidly.
Life consumed the space
reserved for happiness;
the absence of trust
broke our hearts and
shattered our perceptions.
We know the question
and fear the answer;
wondering if we will see
another sunrise.*
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
Dear Heart,
I know that you are tired, because I am tired too.
I know that you are fragile and hurting,
-I can feel the hopelessness in your fading beats.
I tried my utmost best to take care of you in the little ways that I knew how
But still, you are slowly bleeding out
-I failed… I failed you.
One day in the future I will get the courage to ask you for that undeserved forgiveness,
The forgiveness that I cannot seem to even give to my body,
And I hope that on the day, I will be able to beg you for that same pardon with the humblest of hands.
I pray that when you see the scars on my swollen knuckles, you will not despise me,
Instead you will look at me with pity filled eyes
And tell me that my sickness, this awful sickness, was never my fault.
I know that you are scared, because I am scared too.
But mostly I am scared for you,
For I am not getting better am I?
Dear Heart,
I am so sorry for letting you down,
For treating you in the most indecent of manners,
For all the permanent bruises that I have given you
…And for the damage, and what unspeakable damage I have done unto you…
I am monster.
I know…I know that you are exhausted,
But I don’t know how to ask for the help that you need.
I have forgotten how to speak truthfully and honestly about how much it hurts
How do I tell them what I have done to you?
You deserve better.
But I am not the better that you deserve
I am the ****** luck that you got stick with
And for that I sincerely apologize.
You deserved much better.
Dear Heart,
I cannot promise to help you
Because deep inside of me I know that I don’t have the strength to.
I cannot save you,
And for that I am sorry.
The truth is that I have forgotten how to be free.
I don’t know how to any more.
I somehow un-learnt how to keep in what I take in
But no matter how many times I purge my sins and ask myself for redemption,
The little morcels of guilt always seem to remain in the very centre of my gut.
Dear Heart,
This punishment was never aimed at you,
But you deteriorated and withered from it none the less…
You should have been treated with more respect
With love and care…
Please grant me your resolve
And give me the serenity to accept all my imperfections
Please tell me that you forgive me.
We are a broken pair, both you and I
-You we were never meant to suffer
But you did
And you are still.
Never forget that you are precious to me,
It was never my intention to hurt you in the torturous ways that I did…
Your pain was an unfortunate side-effect of my selfish inability to be free
And for that I apologize,
I apologize for the unbearable inconveniences that you have been forced to face
Please find it within you to forgive the mess of host that I have become…
Yours sincerely,
By: Lulwama Kuto Mulalu
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
I am drifting black
With a rotten promise of suppressed sorrows
That each breath
Each heartbeat
Every footstep
Delivers me closer to a beast
The foul scent of eucalyptus hangs in the air
Welcoming me to this filthy place
Wind howling as I open the door
A sickening reminder...
As images echo, a monster lies in wait
Hiding under a cloak of normal
But, at the edge of that disguise there is a tiny thread
I tugged it
In the stale air, the disguise deteriorated
Demolishing the monsters power over the innocent
I saw the scars of lives destroyed littered across the face of a predator
And I told...
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
Why I was able to conquer my feelings
I stepped out of my shoes
I saw who I'd become when I was with her
I saw the ****** blades on the table,
And the nervous panic attacks at night
I saw my spirited self morph
Into a depressed, bipolar girl,
Who's struggle was to keep her alive
To remind her she was worth it
And all the while, the happiness drained out
Leaving a pale, empty shell
She made me become just like her
And I refuse to live my life that way
She was addicting, I was obsessed
But each day I saw her I deteriorated
She was a pill,
but now I'm drug free
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
*"hello" said an old lady as she greeted that old man with a smile.
"One more" he said to himself as he cried inside.
"adjust well to here" he said to that old lady looking at her.
"oh no, you're mistaken my friend, I'm not here for a long time, just a week or so." the lady replied but the old man didn't said anything. She continued" my boy is busy with work and shifting of his home and there was no one to take care of me there so I'm here and he will take me back to home soon"
"yeah yeah" the old man said
"I know you're jealous of me, because my son will take me back but no one is coming to take you back ever" replied the lady
This hurt the old man. She should not have been so rude. The man didn't said anything. He was in this old age home, not because someone left him there but because his family, his wife, his son, his daughter in law, his grandchild died in a car accident. He fell sick on that day and instead of going with them, he had went to doc. When he returned, he kept it waiting for his family. No one came. Only came a phone that said 'mr. your family is here I the hospital, you can fetch their dead bodies'. That man died a little inside that day. But he knew his family would want him to live and therefore he came to this old age home.
Realizing her mistake, the lady said sorry but he didn't responded.
That evening, he was sleeping.
"how are you? My son! Have you ate well" he heard it
"oh you're busy in a meeting"
"well call me later"
Old lady had called her boy.
"he won't come" the man warned her
"you just shut up" lady replied "he is just busy"
Same thing happened the next day.
And the next day
And next
It happened for fifteen days in a row. Same time the son of that lady will give her same reason without changing it.
"lose the hope before you lose yourself" another piece of advice from old man.
"I'm calling him and he would take me back to home just today"
And the lady called.
"son, I do not gel good in her"
"please take me from here quick"
"what"
"no I can't"
"wait"
And the phone fell from the hand of that lady. Her son had asked her to stay there for a month more. The lady was broken. She hadn't accepted that yet. But she still thought her son will come to her after the month.
Days passed, weeks passed and so did months.
Her son didn't came.
The old lady fell sick. Her health deteriorated exponentially.
And on the exact the same day of the year she had came there.
The old man there dialed the phone of her son but he didn't responded.
"can you try again" the lady said. She was on dead. Too weak and sick.
The man was crying. He dialed the number again. No one responded again.
"he is not responding" said the old man
"can you give me the pic there" she said pointing at the famed pic of her family in which the two parents were smiling along with there baby son.
The old man picked that pic and gave it to her.
She held the pic close to her chest. Hugging it tightly. A drop of tear fell from her eyes.
"I'll try again" said the old man.
He tried but no one answered.
He looked at the lady. But her eyes were closed.
"hey wake up" he said and shrugged the lady. But she didn't responded. Her breath had ceased.
The lady died
The next day
"hello" said an old man as he greeted that old man with a smile.
"adjust well to here" he said to that old man looking at her.
"oh no, you're mistaken my friend, I'm not here for a long time, just a week or so." the man replied
The old man couldn't say anything.*
The end
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC
My talents as a poet
As a master of my sanity
Have began to fade away
My freedom to write
Moving powerful emotional pieces
Has deteriorated before my eyes
I've calmed the monster
To ease my grandmothers fears
Of losing her only successful grandchild
I've silenced the voices
To ease my deceased great grandmothers worry
That I'll join her in the heavens of my fathers memories
I've noticed I'm now nothing
Just the average joe
Watching Netflix and eating popcorn
Listening to music dreaming of being something
I've noticed
You read my work
Watched me perform
Understood the hatred I feel
Felt the pain I've endured so long
Grasped the love I once expressed
Yet now you're only looking for those things again
Looking for the long poems I once enjoyed writing
The ones that erupted with passion
For all things I thought of
Five minute poems
One night stands with lines
****** paper with pen
As I forced it to swallow the inky ***
I've always wanted to write my last and final poem
To finally be free of my insanity
And embrace the story of peace and solitude
But in this world those are just mirages
Boiling from the hallucination of my desert mind
I've noticed
I truly am just Robert Guerrero
The guy who dreamed impossible dreams
Only because his talent dried up
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
for Beginners
imagine a disposable razor
on the oldest face you know,
deteriorated and dropped,
the sun's shadow in the cropped crowd
we forget he's there sometimes, they'll say.
he always shaves on a Sunday, they'll pray.
the dog died not long back, some'll whisper.
imagine a week's worth of beard
down a plug hole, some bits black
some bits gray,
some bits there 'cos he pressed a little hard that day
we forgot he was there, they'll say.
he always shaved on a Sunday, they'll pray.
only a week ago he went, some'll whisper.
imagine no one holding your hand
down the stairs, across the road, into
cheap 24 hour corner shops,
imagine no one holding your hand when it matters,
or mattered.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
The itch that demands,
the strong impulse which shall never end.
This battle is a constant one,
this I formulate from within.
You tore up my family,
you tore up my heart.
You destroyed the one I love most,
& you've made her want to depart.
Depart from vibrancy,
the will to live soberly.
You destructed her far past a breaking point,
& now she's a reflection of brutality.
Separated from the one who raised me;
I perceived you as so strong.
You made numerous examples of heroism,
before you let yourself fall apart.
Now your but a frail,
a withered example.
Of the one you used to be,
your present image I'm unable to handle.
Handle the transformation,
that time has made apparent.
Now I'm forced to raise you,
because your brain has deteriorated.
The pain drains my energy,
the devil steals from my soul.
I know this demand all to well,
I've had this feeling since a boy.
Now here I stand,
& I'll attempt to stay strong.
For what you've done to my family,
I'll remember until my days fail to start.
Tears come and go,
but the pain remains constant.
The child-view of life left us long ago;
after this read, its apparent.
Now here we stand,
torn apart from what we had.
You reach out to me and I grit my teeth,
attempting to forget that I'm sad.
I hope I'll able to forgive,
your selfish quest for departure.
Right now its so hard to apprehend,
& the effects feel like deep acupuncture.
The one you married can't see past,
past your current image of decadence.
The combined hatred creates your impulse to disaster,
& your destructive cycle is boundless.
You meant everything to me,
and this has not changed.
However my view of you is in shame,
and alcohol is to blame.
What you've done I can't apprehend,
and I hate myself for the same impulse.
I wonder if one day I'll give up,
because my efforts never penetrated your mental.
Days turn to months, months into years.
Your time is limited here,
from the effects of all the shears.
Your shears are permanent,
Your liver is due to fail.
However every-time you hear this,
you never seem to care.
Back to the cycle,
of your every day misery.
The alcohol has driven everyone away,
And yes mom, this is scrutiny.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
As I stood looking out through the glass,
Into the moving traffic,
The commotion of the crowd,
All I could hear was my heart beating,
This moving traffic, was suddenly motionless,
The commotion of the crowd fell on silent ears,
As I tried to move, I was glued to the ground,
Paralyzed in that moment,
The one that had made all things come to an abrupt halt,
As I tried, tried, tried again, to move,
I couldn’t,
All I could feel was the sensation of droplets falling down from the river in my eyes,
In that moment,
When time did not exist,
When the world outside was not real,
The realization of how much pain I had within my soul,
Pain buried so deep, that it became an ***** within my body,
This ***** had now reached the point of no return,
It had deteriorated into small pieces, which ran through my blood stream,
Infecting, harming and hurting me,
And as I stood looking out through the glass,
I realised that in that moment, I stood not as a whole person,
But someone who was broken from within,
Someone who was responsible for the little pieces that now made up who they were,
Someone who now stood still, paralysed by a pain, which was no longer curable,
Sentenced to life, within her own body cell.
Sep 6, 2009
Sep 6, 2009 at 2:40 PM UTC
My talents as a poet
As a master of my sanity
Have began to fade away
My freedom to write
Moving powerful emotional pieces
Has deteriorated before my eyes
I've calmed the monster
To ease my grandmothers fears
Of losing her only successful grandchild
I've silenced the voices
To ease my deceased great grandmothers worry
That I'll join her in the heavens of my fathers memories
I've noticed I'm now nothing
Just the average joe
Watching Netflix and eating popcorn
Listening to music dreaming of being something
I've noticed
You read my work
Watched me perform
Understood the hatred I feel
Felt the pain I've endured so long
Grasped the love I once expressed
Yet now you're only looking for those things again
Looking for the long poems I once enjoyed writing
The ones that erupted with passion
For all things I thought of
Five minute poems
One night stands with lines
****** paper with pen
As I forced it to swallow the inky ***
I've always wanted to write my last and final poem
To finally be free of my insanity
And embrace the story of peace and solitude
But in this world those are just mirages
Boiling from the hallucination of my desert mind
I've noticed
I truly am just Robert Guerrero
The guy who dreamed impossible dreams
Only because his talent dried up
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
A darkness, the gloaming,
Passes through the hill
Terminating summer
And the remainder of our laughter
Now I halt at the ****** of my tracks—
Awaiting, anticipating, yearning for the best
The best has passed!
Or perhaps was never intended
Not for now, not this fall,
Not ever, at least for me—
Should I accept that?
Or never lapse under the weight
The weight of autumn,
Jubilation evanesced
Apperception of edging expiry
The beginning of absolute rest
A failed romance,
Deteriorated to the end
And leaves you ruminating,
“What could have been…"
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC