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Sne Sep 2018
I do not detest you but i will never forgive you,
For what you have done to me,
How can I forget such thing?
When I first met up with you, I got mesmerized
I just thought I am the only one in your heart.
Hoping that our love bonds will be tightened forever

The stream of contentment was flowing between us,
And we were dreaming of each other
Meditating on each other at all time
Oh yeah! We were like saliva and tongue.

Our love was blazing and blazing more
But now, no even small pieces of coal,
It seems as the  fire reed,
That blazes in high flames,
And ending up losing power.

Our love withered as the dessicated leaf,
You have broken my heart unexpected,
This pain will not be relieved.
A husk, a shadow,
a memory now weak.
A place to avoid,
a number to delete.
A face to forget,
a life given up.
A name to erase,
etched into your skull.
A myriad of hopes,
to remember as dreams.
A time spent alone
to weaken the seams.

A reason to drink.
A reason to cry.
A reason to laugh.
A reason to lie.
A past to detest,
a loss to accept.
A reason to bruise,
to soften the truth.
An excuse to abuse;
a home, to lose.
The sea was forbidden, as was the mist
Residing in the dark were singing deaths
Humanity is an illusion you'll find you'll miss
The creatures in the abyss were never the threats
No, that was the blade pressed to your wrist
Blackness oozing from your chest
Life blood dripping from your fist
At night the pain comes with no bequest
My misery bountiful in your midst
Drowning in tears that I detest
These tangled thoughts I must untwist

its been rough lately
Rj Jun 2018
He looked like heaven
And smelled like spring turning into summer
And maybe you left because you knew you didn't belong there
Maybe you know your place in the realm of the dead,
You certainly have the ambition to get there
And it feels too much like home, so much so that
You know that you could explore every corner of the universe with him
And never find anywhere like here.
Although the city keeps you up at night,
The sound of people weeping and gnashing their teeth in the streets
You throw yourself into the fire
"Burn me!" You cry, and you are burned.
"Cleanse me!" You wail, and you are made blind
Because there is not way for you to unsee what you have seen,
Except maybe forgetting what the world looks like
Plunged into eternal darkness
With only the scorching, dry heat of the flame
The sound of pain outside your window
And the ghost of the smell of spring turning into summer.
Tell me that you detest the memory of his eyes,
Tell me you do not cling to them like a lifeline.
He is roses and quick fingers.
He is bright eyes and a sharp smile.
He is the scent of spring turning into summer
He is heaven but this is home.
This makes no sense to anyone else sorry ALSO if u think this is abt u ur wrong
MarvelMe Oct 2018
What happened to your smile?
I'm feeling depressed
Can you stay a while?
I am not impressed
I must confess

I can't find a quest
I am not the best
I can't past the test

I am f*cking stressed
I can't get bed rest
You, I do detest

Is it God's mental test?
Am I just second best?

My love so suppressed
My love so unexpressed
I feel so dispossessed
I want to disconnect

I have so much regret
Can't get a day of rest

I am so depressed
Like the poem's consistent rhyme scheme
Depressed is constant and overwhelming
Pyrrha Aug 2018
There is a bus stop I stand by everyday
Around me is every person who has ever hurt me or let me down
They stand here with me day by day
When the bus comes I'm the last to get on every single time
I stand awkwardly as all of the seats fill
As usual there are no empty seats left for me
I must pick the lesser of my evil's and choose one each day
The heaviness of the fear and panic sink into my core
As I place myself beside one of them once more

Today however as I stood with the others as I stand everyday
I felt their hollow eyes burn into my back
As the bus arrived I saw it load with all these people that detest me
With all the memories that they carry
All the memories that weigh like dumbbells on my being
And for once I just stand there
I do not get on
And I watch as the bus full of all these things I hate
Drives away as another appears

It stops before me and the door opens as the driver beckons me to get in
It isn't my bus, but I still drag my feet forward
As if pulled by an invisible force like a magnet I can't pull myself away
When I enter I see other passengers
Not all of the seats are full, in fact many are empty
But it still feels full, yet not stuffy
I feel welcome as I stand in the aisle of the bus
I'm dragged down by a brown eyed beauty
And I feel like for once I've found my place
Within this bus filling with the things I love, with people I trust
I got this Idea from a dream I had
croob Dec 2018
what kind of person will, one day,
manifest in your mirror? one you detest?
who smells, whose feet look like
two prunes, who dwells only on
their impending doom and lives
in a garden of weeds,
who weeps,
has wept,
attempting to salvage a concept?

or will you find yourself a familiar stranger
has slept
peacefully, dreamfully,
their death;
a still life image
a peaceful visage
having accepted
their fate
adeptly and having

as ever,
it is all
up to you.
Nekron Jan 24
Being Whorish
helps shoot my heart to the ground.
I want safety without nets

I want to suckle upon breast
But My heart and crown to rest
In the same place and in that my head detest

love lost to ****
Live like lice

I want something fine
Frigid forage in open fields
Mudded boots stuck to root and soot
I’m stuck again to ideas of prosperous activity.

That health follows body to mind and soul in suit.

but here I am stuck to boot my head again?

Cast idealistic creations.
Viewfinder Dec 2018
Won't You Go Away, Oh Dreary Rain?

Oh Rain!  Go away!-elsewhere but here
And be gone with your gloomy ways; ******!
For I have had enough of your detestible behaviour, so devoted on ruining plans
You come in all of your grey-puddled glory; like the eye of an elder
What is it that makes you detest I,  oh dreary one?
Is it my dry appearance that you despise so much?
Or perhaps my freshly laundered clothes, that you must make dripping wet!
I shall never know of your cruel reasons, and I shan’t needn’t care!
For you are just an obstacle, a miserable and detested bully-
Whom appears in my life far too often!
Why is it that brother sun brings me happines?
His sunshine rays enriching my life, giving me warmth and light
And sister moon?  Her nightly glow giving my aching body rest as I sleep at night
Shall we make peace now and build new bridges,  oh dreary one?
Call a truce?  make way to new beginnings and beautiful fortunes?
Let’s not rush this new alliance, instead we’ll take each day as it comes
But the question I must ask, Rain; will you ever learn from brother sun?
Julian Jul 2016
Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions

We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground

With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism

I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend

We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated

Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb

So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans

As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge

So Jim, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to ***** the slim WHIP

No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung

Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity

Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility

The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day

Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom

Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight

A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived

A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause

A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite

Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark

Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal

Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity

Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time

An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents

Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring

I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch

Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain

But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd.

The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity

Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins

Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade

This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed ****** waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare

Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries

Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul armed to the teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes

As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes

The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens

With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last

Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs

In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog

A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter

A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach

Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives staying alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride

Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring

Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on a horse with no name but so consumed with fumes

A fright occultist thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight

He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can ******* even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer

Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun

We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right

And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight

*** and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies.

Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from 1967 to 2016 and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam
Never had a Valentine I'm 27 pathetic right
First kiss was a dancer by profession
Not professional just dim lights and cheap velvet
I was 19 she was 45
Told me I reminded her of her daughter
She's still pushing up daisies in her suicidal garden
I wanted mine to be covered in four leaf clovers
I'm a self proclaimed oddball
Reclusive nature is my cowardice
It leads to uneasy easy comfort
Long for contact from other humans
Yet detest them at the same time
I love music like every breathing being loves water
Still I dance with two left feet
Fashion sense resembles a jester
Yet again it's uneasy easy comfort
Finding balance in chemical imbalance
Had plenty talents
Still too trapped in my own cerebral functioning
Biggest accomplishment is that I'm a caretaker
Oddly enough I barely take care of myself
Thought it just fine as long as I had a wicked liquid buzz
Or heavily ****** like a witch in colonial times
Now I jumped state but I really couldn't flee
From my problems
Said plenty of times that I hate people
Said plenty of times that I hate girls that fawn over
Guys I consider schmucks
Truth is I must hate myself
Most days
Akshiv Nov 2018
Authenticate, Assauge, Attest
We never let it rest.
Berate Beget defeat
Yet does one not follow like sheep?
  Cycles of Servile Sentiment,
Does one Debate, Detest?

Endure, Endow till End
Never to Negate; its best

this chain — its best
To learn to be your best,
It’s best
i have a break at 12 o'clock
will you please come over
you don’t have to knock
i’ll leave the door open
it will be unlocked
a bouquet of flowers
i’ll have in stock
a vase and a candle
a knife and a blade
a face and a cigarette
its all about the way we explain
i mean rationalize away
do time-lines justify our decline into tyranny
send me back again to sublime infancy
retrofit the celibate instigator
lemniscate the elephant’s fingerprints
impress me with wit and charm
storm troopers unarmed
star-gazers, shadow-haters, sand-blasters, ice-skaters,
morning's lovers, fathers, daughters, shoulders and elbows
rub brows and crease foreheads
wrinkles in your timelines
define lines as destiny unwinds
reminds me of blinding light
the heights of old empires
sire warriors, stories as tall as soldiers
for real, heal the split between mind and body
kindly, lovingly, bump up against me
and kiss me again
i am music fused together with eternity
space and dust and rusted armpits
a hundred diamonds, drops of sweat
skin like leather, weatherproof, foolproof too
determine to use it all
for you are the muse of all
do as you need to
fuse it together lest it come apart again
return to heaven and mend the tear
split the hair or the atom
magic is a language
tragic is the cancerous neglect of syntax
emptiness is manic
gargantuan attacks of presence
defenseless, we are taught worthless ****
neglect it, but remember important words
stories, looms of drawings
forming in my mind’s eye
i cannot be bought or controlled by pirates
the best moments are private
you are not invited
so go home and create your own zone of entertainment
its necessary
your gentle fingers
blessing my soul
courage to roll with life’s blows
no need for stoics
or poets who deny reality’s arguments
slippery slopes
walking tight ropes
can you cope with all this mistletoe
restring your bow
dance in the snow as if everyone knows
you are crazy in love with the whole
motionless vision swift as an arrow
roofless rooms
prom queens flip you off and turn you on
sons and daughters, lions of the prairie
a child portable and small
respects the walls that you’ve made
they are not your cage but your shelter
self culture is affluent and not arrogant
sand mandalas tall as waterfalls
golden rainbows pour from the faucet in the sky
like mighty images
wisdom bridges the gaps in our imagination
i can’t wait to get this on the page
written in stone, reflecting thrones
made from the bones of pharaohs
consciousness narrows as you approach
are you a cockroach, coach or a student
strokes of wonder for different folks
cold call your own homes
do you prioritize lightning over thunder
words over rubber
sandwiches to clutter
are you interested in diamonds or other
precious gemstones
that flutter like butterflies when i utter
emeralds like butter
do you waste time arranging your clutter
stuttering utter nonsense
frequencies wasted, gentleness chased away
fantasies radioactive
magic lacks targets
darkens our fathers
keep chasing actions
satisfaction is attractive
your eyes are like fragments of rubies in the fire
i see beauty in desire, features in the sky
i look skyward and see higher
minds are wired to remain stagnant
stranded in a lack of entertainment
change this and make your own amazement
wonder over thunder, lick me down under
gone asunder like the burning acropolis
topple this bottomlessness
can't stop this, its impossible
i wonder do you make blunders
in underground mountains
we shout words like fountains shoot water
curtains topple over
and form a blanket over our consciousness
after our performances
swarms of crazy people leave the theater
shattered and too stunned to speak
to ****** to leak they keep walking down south
toward Plymouth Rock,
Mammoth Mountian or Rehoboth Beach
take stock of the situation and just move
first one out is rewarded
sordid and sorted like straw from the hay stacks
caskets of black iron casings
tastings of wine whose shelf-life is expired
past due cheese overripe and stinky
like mustard dusted with lightning
striking on time is all that we have
thinking that was a close call
we fall down and get up, remove the uppercuts
and lowercases from our mouths
doubt is a ***** word heard too often,
coughing from a coffin she offers me her hand
cold as ice cream, these nouns are deafening
love is lazy like a muffin
and hot like a dumpling
but a liaison with time cannot be rushed
i have lived long enough to learn this
a privilege to give birth to this moment
again and again vintage feathers
send me your sweaters
detest impostors who give robotic answers
i am in wonder at all this grammar
that i was unaware of
ignorant as mustard
and smooth like custard
in this blustery weather
i am glad i wore a sweater
and have an umbrella
to keep me dry and safe
i am in love walking toward the gate
and boarding that plane
i am your heart served on a plate
with a side of coleslaw, soul food for dinner
you are a winner and i am your hunger
a porcelain gravestone
a copper bathtub with claws
stored in your basement
storerooms cold as a skating rink
please don't think, unless its about me
let sentences drift away
while we chase arguments from yesterday's

Mataya Jan 11
Your house was the only safe haven when she met you. At home, she was beat. At school, she was beat, so she couldn't tell the difference between "tough love" and "learning her place" bruises.  When she met you, she was attached to her big sister. Her sister  told her to keep you company while her sister gave herself away again and again. You watched her while she slept. She woke up in your arms from a nightmare not realizing that the reality she woke up to was the nightmare that would haunt her for the rest of her life. You pushed her down and ripped away every sense of safety she had ever felt. She could hear them in the other room. They sounded like they were having so much fun and all she could think about was why was she not having fun? Why did your breath on her neck make her want to swallow herself? Your hands on her neck made her wish she were already dead? Your hands in between her legs made her wonder what was wrong with her? Why was she not enjoying this? Of course she couldn't tell her sister. How could the little girl ruin that for her best friend? After the first time, you got more confident. You brought toys of torture that you use to tear apart her sanity and replace it for hatred for everything that made her a woman. She has learned to detest her hips because you looked her in the eyes and told her you couldn't resist them. How did that 10 year old process that? She learned to cover up all her curves and stay out of everyone's way.  She learned to never say no because that just made things worse. She has learned to hide away. If you ask her about it today, she will deny it because she doesn't want to face the reality that you broke her. If you asked me today how I knew this horrid story, I would say, she is me.
Peter Balkus Sep 2018
There was no point of staying
and fighting for what we believe -
they were ruthless,
we were too peaceful to survive.

Had we stayed,
there would've been no mercy,
no compromise.
Their barbaric lifestyle,
they would have forced it on us.

So we run away,
having left everything behind,
knowing that since now on
we will always be running away
and hiding,

because we are innocent,
we detest violence,
we love life,
and because God is on our side.
"In the early 17th century the Roman Catholic Jesuits launched large campaigns in order to rekindle faith among Catholics. The ruler of the Netherlandish regions, a devout Catholic, Philip II of Spain, felt it was his duty to fight Protestantism, and, after the wave of iconoclasm, sent troops to crush the rebellion and make the Low Countries a Catholic region once more. The Protestants, many part of the merchant elite, in the Southern Low Countries (Flanders, Brabant) fled North en masse. An extreme example was the population of the city of Hondschoote, which dropped from 18,000 to a mere 385 inhabitants."
void Dec 2018
Unborn and already
A path has been chosen
By those that are not them -
To become another cog
In the inescapable machine that is society.

Born - early, half dead.
A step toward failure in
The eyes of their creator
For what they cannot control -
To be fixed and set right
On the path that they will learn to detest.

Developing - on time
To the doctors’ surprise.
The creator gives praise,
But the approval never lasts -
The environment is unsteady and
Unfit for angels to properly grow.

Learning - to please
Instead of exist as one’s own,
Matured in the wrong ways
For an angel of that age -
Molded to never cause concern
No matter the magnitude of circumstance.

An inconvenience to their maker
Unless they could be shown off
For the benefit of the creator -
In private often belittled
And ignored for so much as being a child.

In public a model,
A display of perfection -
Quiet, reserved. Listens well.
A miniature of their puppetmaster
(As what the creator allowed to be seen).

Yearning - to deviate
To become their own
Without the wrath that
Has always followed a stray
From the carefully chosen path
That their master has made so
Impossibly unachievable.

Desperate - attempting to remove
Their wings, Trying everything to
Fall from grace -
To be cast aside and never acknowledged
Or cared for again.
An attempt to be free
Executed in the worst ways -
Broken and bleeding they
Almost always return to
The way it was before as
Their creator sees nothing but
A way to start over and
Mold them once again
Into something unattainable.

For the rest of eternity
All the angels who taste individuality
Pursue endlessly that
Momentary tinge of
Identity; willing to
Try anything and
Everything to become
Angels of their own
Once again, well
If you could call them that.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
         utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
                   (eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
   blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
      a shawshank redemption...

there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
   disorientated by the court
of justice?

the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
namely... within origins
     of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!


      no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a ****
on a chess-board.


who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?

             the state of israel has
been re-established...
      i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over


       e                                                 w


don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...

yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona

who, the ****, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?

      one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
                         when entering a library...

i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
    ecce libra!
             i wash my hands from
                  having any investment in it.

****, the greeks can have it...
      they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
      no... not now... not ever...
        i detest this greek book of overt
  their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
  with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...

sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
                  beside a bowl of water.
oizys Nov 2018
"why do you do it?"
they ask.

why do i do it?

every time i feel alone,
when i feel enraged,

is the reason i do it.

the stings my body resonates with as i separate my skin by a blade,
is nothing compared to the pain that resides within me.

why do i do it?

i can't give you a direct answer.

i do it because, when i am upset, it's the equivalent of taking a calming drag from a much needed cigarette.
i do it because, when i am angry, i seek only myself to take that anger out on.
i do it because, when i am empty, i crave nothing more than to feel the harsh tingles left behind by the harsh metal.

why the **** do i do it?

because i ******* detest myself, that's ******* why.
because every time i force myself to gaze into my own dead orbs in the mirror, all i see reflected is pools of loathing and suffering.
because at night when the subtle ache that's been clinging to my chest suddenly clenches me until i can no longer breathe, i realise that the only one to blame is myself.
because i ******* hate myself.

"why do you do it?"

"...i don't know. "

is the reason i do it.
I don't mind this life,
But imagine
The advancement
If I were actually allowed to live it fully.

I weren't bogged down with:
Health insurance,
Rent payments,
Grocery bills,
Late night escapades,
Social frolicking,
Experience at large and
At small...

Imagine the things I could do.

Imagine the things I would see
With my third eye,
My left elbow,
My Jane's apple,
My fortitude of fortification,
If I were allowed to roam free
My own mind.

I distract myself
To avoid
Becoming myself.

A victim of the thing I loathe
To the vice
I detest

A maggot
In a hive
Of maggots

Writhing and squirming
To an end
They were silently ordered to

Never chosen
Or by their own fruition

To become.

How do we break free
Of the shackles
We were born in?

How do we escape
The labyrinth
Of societies honey and
Technologies advancements, so
To dupe us
Into thinking I have reached I
Or we
Have reached


I do not know
I do not know

I do not know
If this message

Can no longer


— The End —