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"dialated" poems
iUsed To Be A Dope Dealer . **** Turned On Me, Now im The Dope Feind. Mary Jane Used To Be My Main its Insane, Now iGot Methamphetamine iN My Veins. & iDont Give A ****** **** iLove Them Stronger Drugs iDont Take Em To Avoid Problems. iCan Solve Them. iDo iT For The High & Them Dialated Eyes. Can You See That iM Krazie ****** Up Mentality Since The Age Of 13. iGet Twisted So My Life Can Look Unrealistic iGot That Sick Sober High My Times Quickly Passing By.
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Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Switched Kloud
The sky is falling... Raining heavy rhapsodies of rukus and destruction... Frowning. Drowning. Scrub structured stains. Dump waste down dialated drains. Repeat regularly. Such sarcastic symbolism. Such fuckin' frustration. Got nuthin' left to gain. Out of time, again. Such wasted wanting... Such resentment. Can you feel my pain?
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Jan 3, 2010
Jan 3, 2010 at 12:45 PM UTC
A few last words for 09', that filthy *****
I don’t mind the smoke Because I like to watch the smoke rise Your dialated pupils Shine more than any sunrise Is this all just a dream Where did it begin I get it I get it Larger than a force of wind Just let it begin Just let in begin Happy, shiny diamond rays These are the best days These are the best days I get you I get you
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Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
I wrote this on DMT
My mama said its just a phase I just wanna get you high Look at the bright lights Pop a pill now I'm zoning in the sky make you fly sip slow on that poison not sure where I'm goin I'm dialated the popo keeps starin at us the locals keep glarin at us these beans keep me near sighted that *** got me so excited I bite the bullet I keep the rifle close I got the spins but I got to fight it but I think I'm losin my mind but it could be worse I'm sure that I'm fine as I check the time I cant remember the night I pay the price of giving my life flying up high and they all around me **** god **** some bomb *** **** mixin up my potion marijuana stay potent pop a pill now im zoning I'm zoning, zoning
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Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Pay the price of giving my life
i. when will my hopes become existent enough to pour out                        words of sincerity   to speak of a genuine warmth filling my chest instead of the lines full of teenage angst and the desperate cries of prisoners inside me                        who are trying to escape all I can think of are cliché sayings that tell of gloomy times occasionally ending with half-hearted                        attempts at optimism does that please them? ii. I give enough of myself away that I am kept from prevailing but keep enough behind my dialated pupils                        and shaky hands to never be trodden on or crushed to dust I sometimes murmur the thoughts that                        clamor my mind but barely above a whisper because they will be misunderstood iii. reflections hit me seemingly everywhere I turn the images on the water’s surface the gaunt faces that stare back at me in the                        broken glass when I look into my sister’s eyes they                        slap me in the face   these are the many people I used to be iv. I want to be that person that soul who filled me to the brim                        when I was shaking remains of                        mulch out of my scuffed up sneakers and running off to seek boundless amounts                        of a word that never escapes my mouth anymore I don’t want to be known for spewing out pink pieces of pathetic misery                        onto the white carpet No one truly wants a sad girl the reality is that they are not mysterious and full                        of dark beauty at least I am not v. I carry an expertise of driving myself into a dark hole making it powerful enough to either                     drag others in or ****** them out someone gets hurt either way   I leave the classic images of sorrow                     and dark-lined eyes for my own destiny I consist of burrowing under my covers Laying unconscious until the sun disappears from my view
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Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
Will they ever be sincere?
i. when will my hopes become existent enough to pour out                        words of sincerity   to speak of a genuine warmth filling my chest instead of the lines full of teenage angst and the desperate cries of prisoners inside me                        who are trying to escape all I can think of are cliché sayings that tell of gloomy times occasionally ending with half-hearted                        attempts at optimism does that please them? ii. I give enough of myself away that I am kept from prevailing but keep enough behind my dialated pupils                        and shaky hands to never be trodden on or crushed to dust I sometimes murmur the thoughts that                        clamor my mind but barely above a whisper because they will be misunderstood iii. reflections hit me seemingly everywhere I turn the images on the water’s surface the gaunt faces that stare back at me in the                        broken glass when I look into my sister’s eyes they                        slap me in the face   these are the many people I used to be iv. I want to be that person that soul who filled me to the brim                        when I was shaking remains of                        mulch out of my scuffed up sneakers and running off to seek boundless amounts                        of a word that never escapes my mouth anymore I don’t want to be known for spewing out pink pieces of pathetic misery                        onto the white carpet No one truly wants a sad girl the reality is that they are not mysterious and full                        of dark beauty at least I am not v. I carry an expertise of driving myself into a dark hole making it powerful enough to either                     drag others in or ****** them out someone gets hurt either way   I leave the classic images of sorrow                     and dark-lined eyes for my own destiny I consist of burrowing under my covers Laying unconscious until the sun disappears from my view
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56
When nothing else matters, Dont even care When everything you live for Shatters. Let the music Bring about your demise, When the feelings are false, The darkness will rise. I'm gonna be On TV. Why won't you believe me? Restless, alone, And your life is a mess All because you wanted to fit In that red dress. You said everything was alright. Here I am, violation tonight. Eyes so dialated, Life so mutilated, Wondering why my soul Hasn't already faded. It's time to stop When your only love Will send you to hell, Far from above.
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Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 1:49 PM UTC
Red Dress
When I wake in the middle of the morning I see your bare body glowing in what is left of the moonlight. It takes my breath away and suddenly every inch of my skin is fiending to feel you like an addict fresh to rehab. It's been a few hours since I last touched you, since I fell asleep in your arms, and now that we have rolled to opposite ends of the bed I need the high back again. You on top of the covers, and I underneathe, I envelope you the best I can and trace imaginary circles in your hair. I run my fingers down the side of your face covered with stubble and plant feather-lite kisses across your skin as your poison soaks into my veins and my heart quickens. I lay there for hours on this high, watching you sleep with dialated eyes, and trying to hold back these words that sit at the pearly gates of my teeth. It's maddening; trying to keep the brigade of how I feel and what I know and how I hope behind the enameled walls. They fight the barrier and pull at my tongue in an attempt to spill from my shaking lips and crash into the drum of your ears. But I fear if you knew, you would run. So instead I take another hit of you I regather my composure and face the day of sobriety ahead.
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Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
Falling in love at 5am
you feel like bursting through hospital doors. repeating names, rushed hands all over my body looking for signs of distress. you feel like dialated pupils, like throwing tequila back and standing gutter-in-the-street still until you feel every drop of poison fall down your throat and into your stomach. you feel like waking up the neighbors, like throwing wedding shower vases, like turning on neighborhood streetlights and calling for backup. you feel like the anguish that sticks onto places you cant reach in the shower; how im not sure i will ever get your smell off of me. you feel like chaos, like burden, like a level of wretchedness that takes two hands to control. you feel like showing up unannounced, heart racing so hard i feel it bounce along to a chorus of ringing in my ears. and maybe that's why i can't get rid of you. because you have replaced impulsivity with spontaneity, you have taken the fear out of failure and you have made the way danger sounds so easy off of your lips you feel like the "speak now" instead of the "forever hold your peace." you feel like the selfish "wait," the last desperate pleading case; you feel like the passion infecting my lungs in breaths of smoke and dancing dandelion seeds in my ridbcage like a magic show. like an age-old story, some different form of you all strong women must endure, you feel like the irresistible situational irony they whisper about when they say "it is not love if it is not torture."
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Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 11:10 PM UTC
five "hail mary"s
Overdosed on salvation I live in a nation of nothingness No Bliss I long for a kiss of finality, in actuality Maybe just a shot of spirituality will do Bounded - Hounded - Surrounded by insanity I sounded the alarm There is no water here - I live in fear Of being in this cage - a fluid filled Haze My mind wonders in a maze of indecision No Vision Pin-pointed pupils Dialated Blood shot eyes and someone dies in my mind Everyone blind to my murderous rampage for sage to spice up this homicidal soup Vines of untrust winde behind my mind I find that I am all alone etched and sketched by memories of emotional termoil My soul toils I Spoil
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Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
Spoil
Loving him was like a warm gust of wind during the summer, blowing your hair back and whispering past your ears. It was like apple orchards and abandoned shacks, crisp white sheets stained crimson red by a nose bleed, the carpet burn on my knees, the lights, camera, action. The flash, the flame. Loving him was like broken glass digging into the soles of your feet, like clenched fists and bruised bones, hot breath and dialated eyes. Loving him was like acid settling into my spine. Loving him was a breath of fresh air that turned into lung cancer.
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Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Him (N.T)
I'M PRETTY HIGH YOU GUYS, I'M NOT TELLING LIES, OR CRACKING WISE. I'M STARTING TO GET STARS IN MY DIALATED EYES. I'M GOING TO TAKE A WALK OUTSIDE BUT I COULDN'T WALK A STRAIGHT LINE, HOPE NO ONE NOTICES I SMELL LIKE **** INDEED, I'M FEELING PRETTY FINE. AND IF YOU WANT TO BRING ME DOWN, I'LL SAY 'NICE TRY TO SWINE.' BECAUSE YOU CAN FALL IN LINE, I'M FLOATING ON CLOUD NINE.
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Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
THIS IS PRETTY DOPE
Not composed And no composure No more love for Or sense of closure Wont bring you roses I attract these vultures When one door closes My window opens Releases the smoke in To the breeze A calming motion I shun emotions You evoke them Im done and hopeless Too much of your Hopeless potion Has me chokin I let go then You just keep throwin All the flaws you notice Walls keep closin Eyelids refuse to close and Pupils remain focused Penetrated my dialated Heart is still broken Your ego needed strokin So i fed you my soul You devoured what was left of me to empower your shallow self esteem So wasted the time Forgotten moments
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Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
so wasted the time, forgotten moments
In need of some style, some swing a tune to dance to, make a heart sing A beat to step to, drama to fret to flair to spice up ordinary sound blue Eyes that sparkle with secrets, uncover Dark sarcasm to people that'll mutter Complement so on point, heart flutter Dialated pupils, bring home to mother Fools from the past, come in a blast Stop in their tracks, saying not so fast Midnight streets dark soul **** discreet Running away from the reality quick fleet Driving down open roads flee from the scene Stop at the mountain peek look at the scene Discovering, uncovering, realities On the contrary, brutality Stop fear from deteriorating In lines of truth are liberating staring, cigarette smoke inhaling digging deep to revolting detailing Just the **** thats been planning
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Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
The Search
Science explains life as a series of reactions. Some are inevitable. Some are just chance. Science is supposed to be a explanation, But somehow, Impossibly, Mabye just because I am me, Science has failed me. That day in 7th grade was just a fleeting feeling Or so I thought. A crush is just that. A confusing, scattered mix of feelings, that normally, Science could explain. Dialated pupals, Normal. Fluttering heart? Normal. Flushed cheeks? Still normal. This is what science explains. Perfect sense. But what about what it can't explain. This little fleeting feeling can Turn a normally sane person into a aparent lunatic . Turn a single word into what seems like a thousand buzzing Coded messages. Turn a slight stumble into a worldwide tumble. That quiet little feeling, That you told to just go away, Has apparently decided instead To just keep growing. To defy rationality To blurr the line between just a flutter And the unknown. Even after a year of starving that feeling, And you think, its finally gone With a mixture of disapointment and relief. Just to find out that it was hibernating And ready to make a comeback. Why Do these things That just start as just a little feeling Defy science And turn into what could be described as Resiliant, controlling, Exiting, Odd little feelings turned creature That seem to have minds of their own And a twisted sense of humor. Things that some might Call the begginings of love. One of the few, Or perhaps many, Things that are truly undefineable.
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Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
The undefined creature
Science explains life as a series of reactions. Some are inevitable. Some are just chance. Science is supposed to be a explanation, But somehow, Impossibly, Mabye just because I am me, Science has failed me. That day in 7th grade was just a fleeting feeling Or so I thought. A crush is just that. A confusing, scattered mix of feelings, that normally, Science could explain. Dialated pupals, Normal. Fluttering heart? Normal. Flushed cheeks? Still normal. This is what science explains. Perfect sense. But what about what it can't explain. This little fleeting feeling can Turn a normally sane person into a aparent lunatic . Turn a single word into what seems like a thousand buzzing Coded messages. Turn a slight stumble into a worldwide tumble. That quiet little feeling, That you told to just go away, Has apparently decided instead To just keep growing. To defy rationality To blurr the line between just a flutter And the unknown. Even after a year of starving that feeling, And you think, its finally gone With a mixture of disapointment and relief. Just to find out that it was hibernating And ready to make a comeback. Why Do these things That just start as just a little feeling Defy science And turn into what could be described as Resiliant, controlling, Exiting, Odd little feelings turned creature That seem to have minds of their own And a twisted sense of humor. Things that some might Call the begginings of love. One of the few, Or perhaps many, Things that are truly undefineable.
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I don't know if you were raised By animals.. I never thought that song to be true "Be kind to your web footed friends..."                  You know the rest..                        Don't you... Every line every word Brings me to grasp with you!! That my little bit of pain looks like spit to your rain!!                    I don't think that I could cope I don't think I could take                    with my parents on Dope... All the hate                    Cuz I'd be strung up too And bottle it all up                    Wit my pupils dialated... To stay alive                      and dreams stilled... without love Cuz the system would have only confused they try to give a home to everybody eles liter and I would feel like Im in a dump Just another piece of colored trash.. That a lot of people call **** cuz it smells like it was pushed out of an ******* I don't know You don't know if its ture... But I pray for you The deeper the darkness The brighter your emotion and I hope you find a light....                              But All i know is it must ****                          To inevitably have been raised by Ducks....
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Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
I wish you better....
iF You Know Me Then You Know iM ******* High Right. Off The Substance that Provides Super Dialated Goregeous Eyes. But The come Down Is A **** You Feel Drained , Restrained Powerless. No Help But Has A cure That Costs Your life. Dosing up so you won't feel pain The Twist to it Is the pipe. Confuses up your mind Once you Start, you most likely get Stuck, without Realization That youll Always have it in Your position if not youll take risks To get it Daily Use, worsens struggle, Its Not Like **** with this you End up feeling like you Necessarily need it once your hooked you'll think about it 24/7 and becomes your new world. Constant Thoughts of How To Get iT. The first days are easy Your supplyd Have money to buy Later your body builds a tolerance A 50 sack Feels like A Dime sack.
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Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
im high
Why do I die so much? Its distorted constellations Dissonant sounds The joke was always funny But I forgot to laugh I never had to learn how to die I just did everything for you My favorite song is a sad one Why do I die so much? Its my joy diluted My eyes dialated I watch poison course my veins But I couldn't feel high I want to live forever But I keep giving my life for you My favorite song is a sad one
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Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
My Favorite Song
A dense fog blurs a purple sun Dialated pupils spinning A web of color touched my tongue Emitting sparks of savory Saliva spilling over lips Sealed secrets in the darkened depths Trenches sailed over by ghostships Haunting memories of the past Chained up in synchronicity Keys fitting like serotonin Released the Titans from dreaming Freed then to seek retribution.
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May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
Depths
Im so empty, not much left to love. I shake my head riding of. Oh I don't want to live this life. Slice... with the knife. Coral reefs and other pretty things. Angel's with harps begin to sing. Oh these things were destroyed. Stab... This life I try to void. Running coverd in honey falling to my knees. Spoiled meat, feeling the stings of the bees. Please... Oh God help me please. Come and set me free. Troubled, sad, lost, confused. I am never happy and never amused. This life was not for me. Dialated pupils, sunglasses, I cannot see. We are all made of static and tv. Now I have lost my envy. This life was not for me. This life was not for me
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May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
This Life
You cower under the bedding Darkness all round Your restless rapid breathing Is the only sound Your eyes are wide open Though you cannot see a thing Pupils dialated and your hoping A light the morning will bring Sharp intake of breath What was that you hear? Is that death? Who may suddenly appear Oh morning bring your light Bring birds and morning dew The only monster that comes at night Is the monster who lives within you.
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Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
Monsters
and i sat and stared into the eyes of what i presumed to be mine my relection looking right at me cold lifeless tears already formed on the waterline not a sign of any soul behind icy blue irises and puplis far too dialated for this "darkness" inside i sat and i stared at this stranger for what let like eternity but really was probably only ten minutes, at most looking back at me i sae the body of a girl more like the corpse of a girl with eyes that didn't shine and had bags underneath like caynons and blood red lips chapped from biting and self deprecating coldness not a twitch upward to be seen a straight line of melancholy the hollowness of an creature i'm not too sure is real she doesn't look it she's not alive i'm frightened of what i saw because that is who i am that is me potentially.
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Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
staring back at me