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As I stand before the mountain of confidence called hope, I see a clear path up, not too steep, not too straight, but this path is embodied with rewards to the top.

At the top, there is a magnificent tree made of gold, silver leaves and Copper roots. Hope mountain held a perfect prize awaiting me, a Tree called Faith.
This sight to behold was everything I wanted, everything before me was so clear, but at the bottom where I was, there was a River.

This River was called Shame.
This river was filthy, the water was calm where I was, but looking downstream I could see the rapids of rage, the ripples of conditioning before the raging rapids were inviting.

The dreary stonewalling fortification on the banks allowed no light through, downstream was scary and looked impossible, why would I go that way? why even look?
I looked upstream and saw a blinding light, what could this be? I was so curious, so I waited, a true gentleman always waits.

Two days later the light took shape, as it came closer I could finally see, I could see a lifeboat with a caring nurturing beautiful woman.

As this beautiful woman came closer, I could see the river was being supplied by this woman, I could see she was the source.

The river of Shame was being fed by this woman, this filth in front of me was coming from her, but the beauty was something I've never seen, this beauty had me curious.

This beauty made me forget of the supply to the river.
  What I saw wasn't real all the sudden, what I believed was now real.
She came close enough for my heart to be heard, since she had no heart she was envious, she hated what others admired.

She wanted my wholesome heart, so she used her falsehood love bombing to create one, dreamingly admiring the mountain, we were planning different paths right then.
As I stared at the golden Tree of Faith glowing upon Hope mountain, I didn't notice the river was rising, as the numbing waters were rising it covered my feet, I didn't notice she also took a piece of my heart to claim as her own.

She used toxic gas and light to create a projection that this heart was hers to give back to me.

I didn't know any better so I accepted this ambient abused heart, this unfelt abuse gave me amnesia, this hidden poison of my cognitive dissonance gave her all of me.

Since she had nothing and that's what she craves, I had everything so she wanted to enslave.
I forget about the mountain with the tree even being there. I forgot I was here.

Her lifeboat was awkward, it was shaky,
it has imperfections, it has holes,
   her lifeboat is sinking,
     her heart is missing.
my knightly kind hearted empathy,
   my buffering and nurturing sympathy         pick this beautiful woman up
      I pick this gem up because of her idealization of me.
I can clean this insidious gem because she makes me believe, but through the veil I cannot see.
I throw her over my shoulder to carry all her weight, it's hard to move, hard to breathe, building a new boat was extremely hard, carrying her pain was extremely hard.

Everyone thought it was impossible to do it, my shear will power to commit ****** one foot in front of the other, I just didn't know that going downstream was impossible.

What about the mountain?

I couldn't remember from the amnesia, the dark night blinded my sight of the mountain, the drug in me was you and it consumed, i fell in love with misery and misery loves it's companies.

I stared the snake behind the veil in the eyes, standing tall on her pedastool made of spackle it breaks, I fall onto piercing confusion, I pull out shrapnel's of dissolution, I'm covered in her blood of invalidation.

I'm already floating in the boat with her, this wasn't my plan, this wasn't my reality.
I gaze upon this woman, sun shining behind her, no clouds in the sky.
floating downstream she tells me it's faster, that we'll end up behind the mountain higher.

I'm not worried now, I'm now contempt with shame.
I already forgot reality, I already forgot i'm going downstream, I forgot the searing pain, I forgot what I believe.

I'm relaxed, I'm tired, I'm still happy in love with this spellbound misery.

As we drift slowly through the stonewalls, no light shines through, I ask her for assurance, it's getting dark, I'm getting scared.

That's when the veil comes off, that's when the unnatural beauty grows quiet, that's when my voice screams silently within these stone walls.

This isn't her, this isn't real,
I know there's love I can feel, that was our bond, that was our deal, not to steal.

I fall over board and the water is cold, there's leaches, the debris is so random, the shameful water is moving faster, the all consuming cold confusion, random gaslighting and triangulations moving in around me faster.

I immediately can't bear it. My heart pulsates hard, my mind misfires my flight mode, i cannot intake the overbearingly unowned toxic Shame, her coldness activated my fawn mode, I froze, I start to doze.

luckily she had my leg, luckily she knew excessive admiration CPR, just as my body went limp in the agonizing River of Shame, she pulls me out. luckily she got me just in time, luckily she saved my life.

I awoke away from the stonewalls, it's sunny and safe again, we're together through impossible odds, we built this boat and she saved my life.

The abuse amnesia made me forget, the cognitive dissonance was real, I am not.

The mountain was now farther away, I was worried, I grew fearful, what I wanted looked farther away, that's when everything became gloomy, my goal was no longer there, but she didn't care, she knew where the river went, I believed her, I still do.

The ambient abuse made me anxious, the atmosphere was maddening of fear, it carried anxiety, I couldn't see it, but I was breathing it in.

Her eyes were so incapacitating, her heart disorienting, her soul captivating, she had a better plan, for us to press on and build another boat, to add another life, to believe in her, to not stare at the knife.

We build another boat, were out of the shame waters finally, she's helping me, were soon to be a real family, but the only thing real here was me.

Everything is better on the land, were dry, it's sunny, it's better to feel the nirvanic sand. It's here we bring our new seed, to be sprouted downstream.

I now believe in this new mountain downstream, I don't even remember the mountain I seen, were pressing on downstream past a levy, were now in the River of Grief, we're off to the end of make believe.

This river is really turbulent with rapids of devaluation, the splashes make me irrelevant, the dinigrating actions around make me small, I feel lost and confused, nothing makes sense anymore at all.

At the mouth of the River of Grief it opens up into a valley. She jumped onto a rock of vanity and pushed the tree of disloyalty upon the boat.

This throws me out head first, but luckily I have our seed safe and sound, luckily I learned how to drown.

I turn around falling and see her at the top staring down, she smirked and throws enormously heavy anvils of bereavement to make me fall harder, to keep me down longer.

Evil is real, but only if you believe, I crave the flattery of illusionary love, I still had amnesia, I love misery, the feeling reminds me I can feel, I love my slow death so I say I'll find you, I have the seed, I'll wait for you.

As I fall the thorns of numbing premeditation pierce, the pain is searing, as I fall i'm locked on her, my falsehood of love is still enduring, I don't feel the discard, I ignore the distaste.

I land in a field of hopium still protecting the seed, my amnesia is now worse, I can't remember her smirk, I can't remember the weighted anvils of bereavement, I can't remember the tree of disloyalty, I still can't remember the mountain.

My movement is heavy like concrete, my heart sits down at my feet, my mind is nowhere to be found, my spirit is fading on this ground.

I gather everyone from a nearby village to find her, it's impossible, they can't see her, she never existed, my amnesia was now delusional, the hopium mixed realities, nothing was real, there was nothing I could truly feel because everything was wrong, but I believe misery needs me and I yearned.

I say she's at the top, we have to throw her a rope,
they say it won't reach what isn't there,
I say we need a ladder to throw the rope, they say the ladder isn't safe that high.
  
I say everyone can hold the ladder while I climb perilously to the top, they say it will never work, but since they can see me, since they see a part of me is still real, everyone holds the ladder for me.
      
While I acend with my broken dignity, I acend with a fatigued heart, I acend to find what I believe, no matter how hard I try, I will be taking my destined decent.

The top of the ladder is shaky, I spent forever getting there, it's scary, the heights bring great fear over me, more than I've ever felt, but my knighthood makes me overcome anything.

I suppress, the seed is safe down below, I'm here to impress, I can see her now, only much less.

Her snake skin is peeling, the sun scorched blistering skin shows immense pain, witnessing this releases empathy, the caring knighthood in me naturally wanted to save her again.

So I wrap what's left of my discarded soul upon my broken fatigued heart and I use my trauma bonded mind as bait.

I throw her the rope,
she catches the rope,
I tell her to tie off the rope,
she ties a noose with the rope,
her neck is now wrapped with this rope.

If she falls I can't stop the tightening of the rope, if she falls I already know I'll jump for her and release from her neck this rope.

We jump together and I release the rope around her neck, I see the ground coming fast, but I love this snake, I'll die for this snake because I believe, false beauty inside is all I see.

I grab her and turn her away from the rushing ground, I fell once, I can take the fall again.

She is already hurt, immense pain, she will not feel no more pain, because I'm not hurting for I'm with misery again, I believe I can take all the pain for her, the hopium was numbing everything I consumed.

I awoke to a distressed angel, flawed personality, beautiful nightmare, mirroring the devil, but what I saw was a veil over the snake eyes, what I saw was what I believed before.

What I had wasn't real, who I am is no longer there, for I had ambience amnesia, nothing around me fit, nothing around me was grounded, nothing around me was divine.

The eyes that gazed upon me were captivating, spriling, time froze and only she was moving, the feeling was there, a drug within me, the drug was her and I longed for the misery, I yearned for the pain to remember what was real, I needed the intermittent reinforcement, I wanted my all bets in investment back and I risked a short sale.

We faded into the black, into a new boat, she made this boat, she had plugs in  holes of the boat I couldn't see, I believed it was perfect, I didn't know what awaited was a life long anguish.

I still didn't know what was downstream is impossible, I didn't know this new River of Anguish has piranhas of triangulation, I didn't know the rapids were of oppression, I didn't know the rocks causing these rapids she already put in place, I didn't know it was so black around me in this place, I didn't know my seed would become two, I didn't know I would have to choose.

I didn't know true love was in front of me in my hands and not behind the veil, I thought it was her, all the villagers knew, but as I drew closer to the snake the darkness only grew and the seeds too.

The feeling of my lingering mortality reverberates, she built me a coffin and chained it to my ankles, with this immense weight, I carry it with me just in case.

We floated very fast down this River of Anguish, everything seemed fine to all others including me, the darkened skies covered the evil, the cold waters made my body numb, the seeds were held up high to be be safe from the tormenting waters.

As I held them up high, I didn't realize she was still holding the schraded butcher knife in the water, I didn't believe she would hurt me, I didn't conceive the possibility that knife I didn't see was there all along for me.

The waters of Anguish smothered me, the triangulating piranhas slowly nibbled on my feet in the water, the rapids of oppression kept me gazing in the water, the rocks of malice in the water tried to tip me over, but my balance was true and the seeds were safe from harm, but I am not safe, I'm dying inside.

I don't know why, but after every agonizing stab from this knife when I'm not looking, it hurts, but the numbing knife only helped me when it was pulled out, it has holes in the knife so she could pull it out without me knowing.

I always turned around and cleaned the knife covered in my blood, I always gave it back to her, but every wipe upon this blade made it grow, and every wipe made the label on the handle more clear.

I find out in the end this knife is called narcissistic rage, the brand of this knife is called gaslighting and my blood is the supply.

I didn't know any of this until it was too late to save myself, my reality wasn't real, my dreams are gone, my nightmare is all consuming and existent, my seeds are still safe, but I am not.

When I start to notice the knife exists, I forgive her, the conditioning made the skies darker, I wipe the blood off and give it back, the knife is now a sword, it's name is discard.

The waters are uneven, the piranhas of triangulation feel like strangulation, my clothes are still soaking wet with anguish, my hair is slimy and covered in Shame, my feet are cold and numb from the grief.

I can't understand why I'm here,
  I can't understand why I'm actually meant to be here.
  
Every turbulence has thrown me down, she pushes me over head first, as I try to lean up to breathe she has her foot on my neck in the cold numbing river, but this river does not affect her, this river is warmer than her, the warmth from anguish pleased her, the piranhas followed her commands to bite, she smirked as the rocks she placed crushed against my head.

She waited until I went limp every time, but she knew idealization CPR, her deceit was without compassion, her rage was without sympathy, but I had severe ambience abuse amnesia, I still couldn't remember the mountain, I am now trauma bonded from the stabs she's counting.

I only saw her veil, her gaze convinced me I placed these rocks here, her gaze made me ignore the stonewalls around me, her pure hatred was covered in false intentions, her illusion was my isolation.

As everything was becoming clearly dangerous, as everything went pitch black, I look back and see the light from the mountain glowing, I see there is something wrong where I'm at, I see the seeds are not growing, I start to see the pain all around me.

Non the wiser, I keep coming back from drowning, I keep falling for misery, I keep wiping my blood off the blade, I keep isolated, but now I feel there is something painfully wrong, the reason abates me but I feel it, it hurts, it's camouflaged by deceit, it's all in my head, my coffin is soon to be my bed.

I look to the shores, there are other villagers worried, they are waving frantically, they're pointing at a waterfall ahead, this waterfall is called Doom, this fall would be death, the sound is raging, the mouth all consuming.

I see the stream to the side that the villagers are pointing to, I see the calm waters awaiting our safety, but the boat will not fit.

Only me and the seeds are real, everything else around me is illusional, the trauma delusional, the possible harm to the seeds was not refutable, my love for misery was unsuitable.

I could see my life was in danger, I could see the stream nearby screaming safety, I knew the seeds needed me, now I can't stop shaking.

Without her knowing what I was doing, I turned my back towards her facing the water, I knew she was going to stab me over and over again until I turned around, I now see the hypnotic eyes behind the veil. Not turning around only enraged her, the blood on the knife was condesating.

  The safety of the stream for my seeds was a new found glory in my exodus.
  
I paddled with my small hands this large weighted boat towards the stream, her knife was venomous, the water was echoless, the air imparted dreadfulness, all of this was dimensionless, all of this was not real, unless I let it be, now I can see, now I can finally flee.

As I came closer to the stream the waterfall grew stronger, the pain larger, the sound louder, I knew we were closer to the end, I knew I needed to jump off with my seeds, but I know the torment will end.

I melted my enduring pain inside with molten lava heartache to mold anew, I compartmentalize because I have to choose.

I had a vision that if I jump, the seeds will be safe, the climb to the mountain can still happen, I knew I was right about how I felt all along, I realized the veil couldn't cover the true self, I now believed In me.

I now know the water air and land were not what she made me believe, I knew I didn't choose this path, I knew I could survive, I know the seeds are going to be safe now. I know because I manifested instead of throwing in the towel.

Once close enough I finally looked at her and smiled I love you, jumping into the river I could feel the bitter cold agonizing tormenting river smash me with bereavement and disillusion by dissociation, I felt the coma of trauma surround, for I am now trauma bound.

I hold my seeds up high, I kept them safe because they don't feel the water, they're starting to sprout already, no more decay.

As I climb out of the frigid waters and still dripping wet, the drops are red, my feeling is coming back, my back is full of knives, I'm scared but I survived.
Knowing the worst is over I look back to her, she is consuming the river because she was the source, everything dark folds in on itself because the light cannot touch here, for this black hole is collapsing in on itself, I cover the seeds to shield them of this exorcist, they're safe here because my love is relentless.

The tormenting pain makes it hard to stand tall, still going through bereavement of a false reality where I lost it all, the answers we're all lost in the waterfall
"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ”"" "" "" "”" "" ""
ConnectHook Oct 2015
When this digital dark age passes
and smartphone screens go dead
we shall all return to vibrant life.
We shall look up, toward vast horizons
recalling dimly-lit square centimeters of data
finger-scrolling our memories in the afterglow.
We shall again behold the depth of sky
from the mouths of our caves and pit-houses.
We shall know the Creator as well as the Creation.
We shall communicate once again.
Forgive my free verse.
I felt like being naughty.
Infinity Leander Apr 2015
when i told my friend that my new boyfriend loved sports and going out; partying, being loud and obnoxious, she grimaced and said she didn't know why i even liked him. i got angry with her - why did she not trust my gut?

i once told her that opposites attract, so we should be fine. we should have been.

but then came the fighting over little things, then came the mutual devaluation of each other's interests, then came the nights spent on the couch instead of in bed,  his drinking. he would always take the books from my hands and throw them across the wall - *******, he called them. he'd always say i lived in my head, that i never gave him the attention he deserved, that he would take a ******* instead of me any time. and at some point, he had me loathing him more than i did myself.

yet, at the same time, i still loved him. it was like an addiction - i knew he was bad for me, but i clung onto him like he was air and i couldn't breathe. there were nights when i really couldn't.

sometimes it felt like he still loved me, too. when he came to the locked bathroom door and cried with me; apologizing over and over again. at those moments my love for him would crawl out of its cave - my heart - covered in blood, battered, bruised, but still standing. and it would hold him, whispering false truths in his ear. i would always forgive him, because opposites attract. it was just the way he was, he couldn't do anything about it.

even if he could, i frequently thought i didn't want him to. not because i was content with his violent outbrusts and alcoholism, or what he put me through on a daily basis - no. because i loved him, regardless of all the pain he caused me. and love means to accept someone for who they are.

but i came to realize that love is quite finite when all negative things seem infinite.

i hated the way we were so different. where i would sit in one place for hours on end, he'd walk around clumsily, breaking things, screaming, slamming doors.

he drove me mad. and, don't get me wrong, i am not a saint. i'm sure i did the same to him. maybe it's my fault that he turned out the way he did - perhaps if he had chosen to live with someone else, his smiles would still be kind rather than cruel. perhaps if i had changed for him - if i was more like him, we would have been okay. but my silence was deafening. i was convinced he didn't deserve to hear my voice. and he didn't, for days. sometimes he asked if i was pretending to be a ghost of what we used to be. i started questioning my previous way of thinking. do opposites really attract?

and i came to a conclusion. they really do. opposites attract, but they are not always good for each other. i had to learn that the hard way.

and just like a ghost, i faded. i left.
going through a character's head is hard when you have yet to create them.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
the concept of money, a dualism of value and devaluation, was based upon the worth of what darwinism could say about that monkey statement: you scratch my back, i scratch your. darwinism is a failure in terms of economics, that great human get-together, let's congregate, and instead of a stampede of buffalo we'll have ourselves a revolution... the failure of the monetary system: an invisible shining of gold is the fact that gold was once valued and now is devalued, money is a very serious virus, it requires something new to make it an asset, and something old to make it devalue it (a non-asset)... money is also a way to say: you be a plumber for me, while i be your middle-classed opinion making machine paying you, there's no monkey scratches another monkey's back in this story... money is the only invisible object that wants to intertwine so many others in its spider-web...  just so it can make itself visible, money added to gold will only be seen via the madness of thrór (throor).*

for now most of us are literate,
and by literacy
we are told to plough
the great genetically modified
fields of vegetables...
we've been made literate
but by the same acquisition
of literacy, the old powers
which once laid sway to this
monopoly have left its powers,
and instead of those to tend to
arable land we are left with
poets... we have become
straitjacket bound to the blank
pages... once the expression
of the mountain of muscles
which left us thoughtless...
now the work be eased,
and our body's harsh expression
of mandibles b forgotten...
and how we search for the same
expression of labour...
to have thought labour be exchanged
into equal labour of thought...
like muslims favouring
the elemental intoxication via the
element of air and its burned weeds,
discriminating with the element of
water and alcohol...
but we have been deceived in
being given such sudden literacy,
when literacy monopolised for so
long a status of power...
and because there's no field to plough
and live naturally, exhausted,
we've seen to be living by a new plough,
bishops and knights of the new order,
the legions of psychiatrists...
the stiff air of rooms with brimming
sulphur awaiting... no free air
of the field and strength of ploughing...
for ploughing can be quantified
with eager hands and hungry and emptied
bellies... but how quantify thought?
why... you'll only quantify thought
by a failing... and leave the quality of thought
to the ones reigning the quantification of it,
and the quantification of it
leads to nonsense or nothing,
akin to the ones qualified to
think, not the ones quantified
to do so in think-tanks
and political parties:
why then gollum invisible and sauron visible
wearing the ring in the narrated depiction?
well... apparently, the question aside:
we're not qualified to think,
because our "thought" is quantifiable
as soldier, baker, banker, spy...
but it's qualified to be an expectation
of a non-quantifiable thinking
which de-qualifies it from an original
intention, the intended quantifiable,
which leaves the existence of quantum physics
the deity of two humanisms arguing
on the simpler geographic, i.e. spelling:
quantity v. quality: both qua (as being),
far far away from what i said to an
anaesthetist having my wisdom teeth pulled out,
saying: quo vadis?
i guess it would make sense to have simply said:
qua quo non vadis esse omnis verax
(as being, as going, nowhere to be honest,
in all honesty).
Anushruti Singh Oct 2018
Do you ever feel like a dust
Drifting through wind
Starting spear in others eyes.

Do you ever feel like a paper thin
One may use, another may throw
Thinking about devaluation of your.

Do you ever feel like steeped in misery
trapped in a cagey
But no one wants to hear a thing.

Do you know that there's still a BEGINNING in you
It's not and ending of you
There's still glimmer in you.

You have to ignite the light in you
Let it shine
Let your colors brust.

Come on show them what your worth
You need to slap them with your work
BEGINNING is there in you so let it boom.

You don't have to feel like you mean nothing to this mean world
You are appealing creation of God
You're original,cannot be replaced with others.

After a hurricane, comes a hope
You have to know what your future holds
BEGINNING is your soul to reach your goal.

Seeking for open door but gotta closed
So that in search of open door
leads you to the perfect road.

Like a lightening of clouds, your heart will glow
Wait for that flwaless time
When it's time, you'll know.
BEGINNING is a step to know your world where you exist.
BEGINNING is a way to embellish your world where you live
BEGINNING is a key to resplendent your world where you breathe                
                            -Anushruti Singh
For days I've been unable to write poetry and someone told me I should just write something...

This is me writing 'something'.
I hate writing about this situation but I'm purging.

Lol, all I wanted was mutuality but even in the brightest of times, it was mission impossible. Seems a bit foolish of me to have invested basically my all into someone so ...transparent. The lies and deception dripping like wet paint off of her giving the reflection of a colored person was visible to everyone but me ...to me she was still transparent. From the start, I made a promise to myself never to succumb to any negative forces interfering with what was supposed to be a 'Nirvana'. I still remember the tedious efforts of sneaking to her window. I still remember everything we did and her lips still feel close to mine ...for now. My retrogression occurs once again. Tomorrow, her name will no longer be locked onto my tongue, no longer stitched onto my heart. Instead, her name will do nothing but damage what was once whole but it's fine because tomorrow there'll be another. Tomorrow your name will be '****** from my lips ensuring it never comes back up'. Tomorrow, what was once so sacred between us won't be so sacred. Tomorrow it begins; tomorrow I regress.

You see,  I'm no dummy. Somewhere between the lines of
loving me too little
and
not loving me at all,
you found a bucket of lies with my name on it and you fed em to me until  even you succumbed to the deception. Luckily, you caught yourself so can I really blame you for what you did?
You say I play the 'victim'? I am a 'victim'.
a victim of being cheated on, lied to, played and rode like the donkey jesus sat on lol ...just a little humor to ease the level of despondency.
im a victim of tragedy.

Do you even know how it feels to be so happily in love with someone? so confident that someone is yours just yours and then watch that person willingly get swept off their feet and out of your life? never have i ever felt so confident that someone was mine and all mine, someone i could love and trust...
You won't ever understand how I felt that night.
...sitting there with the biggest smile on my face and the warmest heart ...then your neck.
I didn't just see a 'purple bloom' my dearest love. I saw my life flash before my eyes, I knew you were no longer mine for on your neck you were branded and you walked proudly with it. With your branded neck you stood there proudly and confident in yourself. ****, i hate you. you stood there smiling a smile that was no longer just for me. You stood there and kissed my cheek...if only I had known the devaluation of that kiss. You held my hands but if only I knew that those hands were not too long ago wrapped around and lustfully attached to another.

Although my way of getting over you isn't right, I'm **** sure it'll work. You want me to share you. That's what you want and I should've expected it from the 'first occurrence'. You want to be in the middle and who am I to judge? I'm just stuck, maybe? I'm no fool. I've done my wrongs and I've kept my secrets from you but in no way have I came remotely close to doing this to you. I stood by you through every hurricane, sheltering you. How is it that it's so easy for you to be apart from me? All I wanted was to be secure but you're so immature and can't even secure yourself, check your wrists.

I sincerely wish you the best. Disregarding all my bitter thoughts, I do hope you're happy.
I wrote this from January after my break-up and kept it Unlisted but in the most non-disrespectful way, it's lost its 'weight'.
Elspeth Jun 2016
We need others to play with us to not feel isolation,
We need to bring joy to others to feel elation,
We crack like delicate porcelain then be viewed as a deformation,
Our minds are more of an aberration,
As we yearn for someone's admiration,
We are viewed as objects by the nation,
We strive to look different by modification,
Ending up with falsification,
With envious glares acting as devaluation,
Although we are each marked by our own notation,
We submit to society's suffocation,
All in all we are the gods and demons dolls.
Artificial, pretend and above all,
just a recreation.
up on Boot Hill
the sun sets early

the soaked anguish
of grieving mothers
swaddled in
twilight's vestments
mourn the death
of another murdered
child

we roll our eyes
and speak in tongues
tiny prayers
incant
RIP

these reflexive bits,
our shattered votives
litter city boulevards
on each solemn
street corner
new alters
of desecration  
are erected
then despoiled with
the wasted wax of
misspent novenas

our extended families
are bloodlines of fear
spawning
prostrate men
tattooed with
multicolored pain
who refuse to cover
body marks
bespeaking epic tales
of sorrow,
divisions
countless separations
also marking
righteous reasons
of seething
resentments
eager to settle
accounts

sweet vendettas  
clever ambushes
carefully deliberated
for generations
by discordant clans
believing in malice
exalting guns

shared loss
is our
common
affliction

uniting everyone
in envelopes of sadness
becoming live
Dear John letters
bearing news of dearly
departed loves

atop the coffins
of dead children
votives pile high
with scrawled eulogies
of fevered graffiti
solemnly pledging
“gonna make someone suffer
gonna even the score
never forget you
RIP”

and we all die
looking stupid as hell

lamenting
love don’t rest in peace
hearing
it scream from the grave
witnessing
the hallowed earth
churning with revulsion
accepting the bitter ashes
of another dead child

for the love of you
is your funeral march

love don’t RIP
it stalks the tomb
of indifference

it mourns
the ambivalence
of its devaluation

it haunts the
day dreams
of what could
have been

it restlessly
flits among
the playgrounds
of our minds

cluttering the rooms
of our homes
with grief

up on Boot Hill
we clasp the
small hands
protruding from
shallow graves
groping to find
a graceful sleep
for love don’t
rest in peace

Stevie Wonder:
Love Is In Need of Love Today

Written to honor
Love Appreciation Day

jbm
Oakland
1/19/13
KatieM Nov 2011
AN: There are no errors. Every word, every space, everything is done on purpose.

Call it creepy.
Call it weird.
Call it masochistic.
I don’t care.
You don’t know,
you can’t fathom
how it feels
to see your blood well up
fill the tiny little channels
in your skin.
Watch your skin turn red,
then fade to pink,
then finally to white.
You don’t know
how it feels
to see your blood reach up
toward the stars,
dying white to red
in a matter of seconds.
You don’t know
what it’s like
to have your whole life
hang in the balance of
a pushed up sleeve.
To harbor secrets
so much darker
than the darkest of guesses.
You can’t know
the feeling of a defaced cross
forever imprinted in your skin
when you press you arm against
something flat.
You can’t understand
the easiness of a trance.
The lack of thought,
except maybe
“look how pretty”
or perhaps
“Bleed, bleed, bleed!”

You think you know
the pressure of-
not the blade,
because that’s not all
I use. More-
sharp objects,
but you don’t.
You think it’s all emotional,
bring mental pain to
physical pain.
or it’s a pathetic plea for
attention.
or it makes me feel better.
or I want to fit in.
or .
or.
or.
All this psychological
devaluation.
It’s all
wrong.
Chemical imbalance?
I guess we’ll never know.
I’m sure as hell
not getting
tested.
So you can throw me away
and lock up the key-
or is it the other way around?

No, you’re out of
your mind.
You want to overanalyze
me,
over complicate
me.
It’s simple.
I want to see myself
bleed.
I want to see what’s supposed
to be on the inside
on the outside.
Why does there have to be more?
Why do you have to blame my depression?
or Mommy?
or Daddy?
Because that’s the most widely accepted
excuse?
Rather than the truth?
Why would you rather believe
lies?
It shouldn’t be so hard
to find a name for this.
A name that doesn’t also apply
to biological disorders.
That’s not what this is.
This is something
solely
in my brain.
Neither
nature
nor nurture
but
a neurosis
that simply
is.
I have a
neutral
relationship with my
‘disorder’.
I don’t try to do away with it,
and it doesn’t try to
**** me.
But you don’t believe that.
It’s not healthy.
It’s bad.
You spout off meaningless
facts**statistcs
about suicides
in my age group.
How some
-emotional!-
cutters
accidently go too far
resulting in their
death.
SHUTUP!
I know what
you’re saying.
I understand
the statistics.
I know why
you’re concerned.
I get it.
But I’m ok.
Honestly, I am.
It may not seem like it,
I know,
but I swear it’s true.
I’m ok with who I am.
I have no shame.
Really.
You don’t know
how this is.
so just leave me
alone
and help someone
who really needs it.

Because I.
Do.
Not.
Oscar Mann Dec 2016
Grandiose curiosum
Tittle-tattle tralala
Association after association
What has been and could have been
And would have been and isn’t
The fourth rack wrecks
With rumours and whispers
And dishonest lies
But sell your soul for some sales
And you’ll end up in an endless devaluation
Of the moral
And the valuable
And decency and fact
Between a cold Sun and a dead Star
There is nothing worthy to Express
Tom Blake May 2017
I am  here where MANY have already been,
How long will I linger
Before I move on?

Will
I
Move on?



Growing Is hard
Not growing harder,
Especially,
When  there is a motivation, compulsion
To
Grow,
Like
The flowers and trees
Defying gravity,
Exercising
Urge and belief
In
It's existence/
Their
Existence,
Thrusting itself
Toward
Heaven.


But
Still
Treasuring
This present earth
And
Cosmos!

Devaluation
Keith W Fletcher Aug 2017
Appalled by the execution
Of the implied devaluation
Bringing down the hopeless rage
Upon all those tainted by implication

I stand in visible observation
With no shield or aberration
To lay blame for my inclination
To find fault in your need for polarization

No left or right or up down
Flows in natural light through my being
I am extant in my word and deed
So blame yourself if you fail...in seeing

That in the most unimagined
Set of convoluted circumstances
I am simply your own reflection...uninspired
By your lack of need ..to learn by taking chances

But even i will not follow you.... into
The depths of your morbidity
If you seek to drag along those poor lost sheep
Into your hatred and fearmongering obscenity

I stand ...
For all...those
... who you knock down!
Emma Nov 2019
it's longest chain
to suit and unsuit game
a blood is burning in my vein
i climbing up on mountain top
i scream, i win, but that is not enough
you look at me with curved face
devaluation any steps
i am like Christmas tree on sunday market
my branches was decorate by garland
and everyone gives own price
they look at me like at the Christmas tree
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
zoo
i once grew a beard to never glimpse at the sight of my chin, a year later: i can't see my neck!

it's always handy to keep a piece of toilet
paper, oh, sorry, journalism at hand...
just this overarching sense of how journalists
have no ambition to stretch it into
a novel category of blah blah -
   or the audacity of curbed haiku -
and the immediate numbing interlude
of the many hiatuses that come their way...
which is why i find poetry to be
the equivalent of: spring cleaning,
          levelling all the junk of narrative -
i want the idea, which is poetic:
  less strain on the eyes than a paragraph,
yet still so potent in reminding me of:
claustrophobia -
    so little words, yet so much sea.
        - yet i have to have some journalism
handy...
             although it encompasses but
a day, its over-inflammatory caricature of
novels or alternatives -
its toilet paper quality -
it's supposed lack of... *clinging
,
   it's immediate devaluation due to the reason
that: there has to be a story tomorrow,
even though today a story was promoted
from the realm of journalism
into a realm of history...
                    let's face it, journalists
are maddened by the fact that they write
for a living, are scared of poetry and are
told: fiction is session of yoga
   in a steam room!
            i love journalism -
it keeps me "informed", but at the same time
help me forget, which allows me to
read a book...
            in front of me is a loaf of bread,
but it's handy to have a few crumbs
from the previous reading loiter...
             which is a noun for a previous
verb of doing, by noun be, i.e.
       the one imitating knitting with
his excessive pride in mandible thumbs...
        journalism is great for that...
airy fairy hardly ima-gínary
(that hyphen and the acute iota add up
to - in diacritical arithmetic of
syllable dissection as: imagee-canary)....
           but that's beside my fascination,
i live a pretty rustic life -
then again, the simpler life breeds
the most impassioned pleasures derived
from what others would deem: mundane.
akin to ancient greece...
    i once sported long hair like a spartan...
now i have my ****** ***** to entertain my
grooming "gallantry" (dict. meaning
no. 2, hence the dissociating no. 1 literal) -
     i just think journalists are keeping me
informed about the fancies, lusts and debaucheries
of ancient Athens...
                    on the skirmish lines of
where the metropolis ends and the countryside
begins, i'm far from the urbane
   fiddling, squatting, swindling,
squandering neurotics of
  what you think predicates i think...
these journalists reveal a world of the ancient
lure of the unnerved and the revealing
taste for unconscious sabotage...
           and since there's no what in
the fact that i think, there's only me thinking
as a placebo artefact of what could have been
what you think is of no consequence -
alas, journalism tells as otherwise...
  which is why having even the most
uninviting, minuscule effort from the medium
at hand, can allow you to, quiet frankly:
relax.
                   i live among foxes -
i am on the periphery of civilisation -
among the feral kind -
    i have no urban ambitions -
    but in my youth i have noted a clear
distinction between translating ancient greece
into modern, english society...
these journalists recount an athenian life -
i live a spartan life...
        i simply watch them trip up on their
own faeces and hubris with a unforgiving sense
of delight...
        primarily their affairs and conundrums with
the use of technology...
     my mantra was always:
go in, do what the *******'re supposed
to do and... get the **** out before
they can say: aliceinwonderlandthepornmovie;
i might as well call it:
   the return of anthropologists -
but i'm afraid it's too late to revise this
society with anthropology -
        since we're not studying aliens
anymore: but alienation -
                      every time i travel into
central london i'm walking into a zoo,
the same apparent cages, bars and tranquillisers...
notably on the weekend -
                 an **** fest of
                   disembodiment, rattled with
a zombie perfume of a rotten sense of:
       the lost art of imagination.
Kay Cee Jan 2018
Augmented legitimacy,
embodied
in the idea of loving
the personage in their very own skin
shuns (more often than not) -
the inconspicuous anomalies -
inherent of loving
the entirety of their being.



Accompanied
by an implicit denunciation - devaluation
suffered
by the pragmatic scope of improvement,
is the acquiscent vade mecum

(enforced).



Acceptance; ought not
be harassed
(by a reluctant compromise, maybe) -
in lieu of - an ambience
for correlative betterment, be
sponsored
by endearment of souls divine.



Might come off
as imposition perhaps, but
we are forever growing : learning
to love (in love);

to embrace
the object of one's love and not
submit and/or succumb
to our pernicious flaws

(combined).



© Kay Cee 2018
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
All in all its just another
       B.R.I.C for the WALL.

  We don't need devaluation
Dollar$ make no sense at all.

Putin! Leave those W.A.S.P.s
                   Alone

All in all they're just a crash
         away from a fall

All in all they're just a crash
        away from a fall.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
it's one thing to say the grand
NO
of a h. p. lovecraft
confined to an essay by
houellebecq...

   life can go on...
life always does:
what is derived as life:
is what derives itself
from derision
and what doesn't:
is mopped up
and recycled or:
          
   ..................................
.........................
..........................
.....................................
.........................
.......................

all in all:
there is no grand NO
counter existence...
that noumenon-pandora
of the "self"-in-itself:
reflexive
that's never reflective:
continues...

as long as the pleasures
are attainable,
and cheap...

      me?
i have no grand NO
contra existence:
itself,
no:

          non per se
se per "non" (ex-)

         (not in itself,
itself in "no"
    (out of) -
and hence the missing
outlet source)...

i do have a grand
NO...
but my "grand"
NO
is not on the grounds
of existence...

mine?
zoo...

              i say my grand
NO on the grounds
of ontology...
and not on the grounds
of existence...

ontology has no per se
   "annex" / foundation
to be rebelled against:
to counter...

existence on the other hand?
beyond the "self"
there's a self
to be minded...

                 i cannot say
a grand NO against
existence:
  i am dodo:
i am to be replaced...

  i say my "grand" NO
against ontology...
on-to-and-thoroughly-with
the logistics of:
reciprocated
          devaluation...

i have a, NO...
                 but it's not
a existential no...
            nor Fwench...
did you know:
the French used to trill
before they succumbed
to harking the rho?

vita est pro vita
    vel: in vitro...

       i have a, NO...
Pontius Pilate said:
   and life beside before
and after me: will continue...
but am i to behave
by the common
will of the collectivist demand?

i have no grand negation
of the most grand per se...
but i have a need
to nibble on the branch:
i say NO to the ontology
and...
   a shy yES to the existence...

i: fraction common
of the grey mass
of the street's traffic
of pedestrians;
and... that... is...
all i will ever fathom...
in... allowing... myself...
to... give... freely.
so man invented gin 0.0%
and beer without
any flame...
like coffee without any caffeine...
like..
heaven is a place without time
and hell is a maelstrom of
timing issues?
seriously?
heaven is timeless...
oh... great... the constipated posit
of a place:
that's like a constriction:
a digestion practice of a boa serpent...
if heaven is a place:
devoid of time...
then hell is a time... devoid of space...
implying anyone can occupy it:
even god...
timeless god this space:
so wish you make requisite... of
a...
i finally came to acknowledge
the capacity of sharing
a bed with a cat:
only after i taught it that
i  can share a bed with a woman:
but even my mother:
calls me 16 times...
doesn't bother to leave a text
of clarification...
just 15 missed calls...
so i drink my pea protein banana milkshake
and expect to sleep until 8am going to
bed at 8pm because it's too warm
and the t.v. is no ******* fireplace...
get rudely wokened up...
what?! what?! what the ****?!
if "they" are crafting 0.0% gin...
seriously?
then i'm not even close
to drinking myself to death or a vegatative state
of affairs...
couldn't she just have:
******* texted... our flight was delayed by 2h...
women!
oh yeah: in a time of having three daughters:
i sort of, imploded:
i have my mother: daughter...
i have Edie, lover, wife, blah: daughter:
and i have Reyla:
the sanity-soma
             the reality checker: the ******* feminine
bureucrat sanity...
there is so much couch surfing
of psychology before you cave in a retaliate
with your own narrative:
because this ***** is not about to choke you:
you're the alienating enzyme
that's not monkey
because you're not even the dragon:
you're the tapeworm
and you already Warsaw that...

so the Jews thought they could leave this
place: Poland: without the fear of chimneys
and no pyramids:
like the Germans could leave this place
with the castle of Malbork:
the northern crusades and Lutherism?
seriously?! Henry the: ******* 8th?!
Henry?!
                    hen-wry? these clucks are not
worth the work of anti-bollocking?!

hello Reyla;
Reyla says: hi...           i try to imitate putting
on clown make-up make-believe...
hi.. Reyla: your monster not father
imitation: hi... Reyla...
you want some soda pop
i'm leaving you with an R rated comic strip
of a movie:
i'm just going to cycle in the dark
to get you a soda pop...
does Reyla like a soda pop?
anything else that pops? snails?
toads?
eyeballs?

oh but Reyla loved being left alone
in a house upon a hill
with Veronica and Quarus
while we went to enjoy the Phantom of the Opera
and make criticism of the English
interpretation of Mozart's the Magic Flute:
in a Spanish Wine Bar...
but i so wished to be alone
with Reyla...
at some point...
maybe at the venture to discover
Kew Gardens...
i wanted to be alone with Reyla...
but i wasn't allowed...
hence my establishing ***:
sort of... perverted...
it has to be...

                 if i can't be alone with the daughter:
in public...
this android of my ego:
then what is the simple fact of *******
this glorified *** of a Puerto Rican honey?!
if i can't be alone with daughter
that's not my bio-own...
in a big city...
     what's little ol' me with a driving license
on the island of Kauai?! seriously! seriously!!!

maybe you're the mother of giving me
the self-impromptu dynamic of clarifying my life...
maybe... just maybe...
don't you think how...
proper: there are these justifications
that can be: implemented...
and there is no current: cultural parallel:
anaology: paraphrase... imitation game...
there's the cat sleeping in my bed
and there's a child:
a finance of infancy:
investing in ideas without thoughts...

i buy *** because i don't want (the) emotional
devaluation of the interaction
focused upon having ***;
so i have ***: ad hoc: per se...
but when i have a relationship:
i sit on a volcano of Hawaii:
and say: usher in Armageddon...
so you know: i'm privy
to the antithesis of female neuroticism...
i am agitate with crafting the male:
euphoria:
and the counterfeit of psychologism
of neuroticism:
the outlet: carthritis...
hello Reyla; Reyla says hi...
sorry Reyla:
this is not your father speaking.
nightmare: ew...
i thought you were a dreamland
Swiftie! like Evlis in a cult
of sworn sheep-shaggers clothing
for wolves to laugh in;
when attired to understand the posit
of artificial intelligensia...
A.Is.
Eshwara Prasad Nov 2020
Face value declines with age.
Every wrinkle formed is a devaluation of face value.
nivek Nov 2020
Global devaluation of freedoms hard won
in one denial of votes by a disgruntled loser.

— The End —